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httos://archive.org/details/harvesterOOstra_1 


The Harvester 


BY THE AUTHOR OF 
A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST, 


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COPYRIGHT, 1611, 191 0,0n 
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


PRIN TeE DWI NUOIELE LUND EDMS OTA T Es 


This portion 
of the life of a man of to-day 
is offered in the hope that in cleanliness, 
poetic temperament, and mental force, 
a likeness will be seen 


to 
HENRY DAVID THOREAU 


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VI. 
VIII. 
IX. 


XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
LY. 
XV. 
XVI. 
XVII. 
XVIII. 
XIX. 
XX. 
XXI. 


Contents 


Belshazzar’s Decision . 
The Effect of a Dream . 
Harvesting the Forest 


A Commission for the South Wind 
When the Harvester Made Good . 


To Labour and to Wait... 
The Quest of the Dream Girl . 
Belshazzar’s Record Point 

The Harvester Goes Courting . 
The Chime of the Blue Bells . 
Demonstrated Courtship . 


“The Way of a Man with a Maid” 


When the Dream Came True . 
Snowy Wings . 
The Harvester Teron fee Lite 
Granny Moreland’s Visit . 

Love Invades Science 

The Better Man . 

A Vertical Spine . 
The Man in the Rarkercind ; 
The Coming of the Bluebird . 


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CHAPTER I 


Belshazzar’s Decision 


“BEL, come here!” 

The Harvester sat in the hollow worn in the hewed log stoop 
by the feet of his father and mother and his own sturdier tread, 
resting his head against the casing of the cabin door when he gave 
the command. The tip of the dog’s nose touched the gravel be- 
tween his paws as he crouched flat on earth, with beautiful eyes 
steadily watching the master, but he did not move a muscle. 

“Bel, come here!” 

Twinkles danced in the eyes of the man when he repeated the 
order, while his voice grew more imperative as he stretched a 
lean, wiry hand toward the dog. The animal’s eyes gleamed, his 
sensitive nose quivered, yet he lay quietly. 

“Belshazzar, kommen Sie hier!” 

The body of the dog arose on straightened legs and his muzzle 
dropped in the outstretched palm. A wind slightly perfumed with 
the odour of melting snow and unsheathing buds swept the lake 
beside them, lifting a waving tangle of light hair on the brow of 
the man, while a level ray of the setting sun flashed across the 
water and illumined the graven, sensitive face, now alive with 
keen interest in the game being played. 

“Bel, dost remember the day?” inquired the Harvester. 

The eager attitude and anxious eyes of the dog betrayed that 
he did not, but was waiting with every sense alert for a familiar 
word that would tell him what was expected. 


4 THE HARVESTER 


“Surely you heard the killdeers crying in the night,” prompted 
the man. “I called your attention when the first bluebird waked 
the dawn. All day you have seen the gold-yellow and blood-red 
osiers, the sap-wet maples and spring tracing announcements of 
her arrival on the sunny side of the levee.”’ 

The dog found no clew, but he recognized tones he loved in the 
suave, easy voice; his tail beat his sides in vigorous approval. ‘The 
man nodded gravely. 

“Ah, so! Then you realize this day to be the most important of 
all the coming year to me; this hour a solemn one that influences 
my whole after life. It is time for your annual decision on my fate 
for a twelve-month. Are you sure you are fully alive to the gravity 
of the situation, Bel?”’ 

The dog felt himself safe in answering a rising inflection ending 
in his name uttered in that tone, and wagged eager assent. 

“Well then,” said the man, “which shall it be? Do I leave home 
for the noise and grime of the city, open an office and enter the 
money-making scramble?” 

Every word was strange to the dog, almost breathlessly waiting 
for a familiar syllable. The man gazed steadily into the animal’s 
eyes. After a long pause he continued: “Or do I remain at home 
to harvest the golden seal, mullein, and ginseng, not to mention 
an occasional hour with the black bass or tramps for partridge 
and cotton-tails?”’ 

The dog knew each word of that. Before the voice ceased, his 
sleek sides were quivering, his nostrils twitching, his tail lashing, 
while at the pause he leaped up to thrust his nose against the face 
of the man. The Harvester leaned back laughing in deep, full- 
chested tones; then he patted the dog’s head with one hand, re- 
newing his grip with the other. 

“Good old Bel!” he cried exultantly. “Six years you have de- 
cided for me, and right—every time! We are of the woods, Bel, 
born and reared here as our fathers before us. What would we of 
the camp fire, the long trail, the earthy search, we harvesters of 
herbs the famous chemists require, what would we do in a city? 
And when the sap is rising, the bass splashing, and the wild geese 
honking in the night! We never could endure it, Bel. 


BELSHAZZAR’S DECISION 3 


“When we delivered our hemlock at the hospital to-day, did 
you hear that young doctor talking about his ‘lid?’ Well up there 
is ours, old fellow! Just sky and clouds overhead for us, forest 
wind in our faces, wild perfume in our nostrils, muck on our feet, 
that’s the life for us. Our blood was tainted to begin with, and 
we've lived here so long it is now a passion in our hearts. If ever 
you sentence us to life in the city, you'll finish both of us, that’s 
what you'll do! But you won’t, will you? You realize what God 
made us for and what He made for us, don’t you, Bel?” 

As he lovingly patted the dog’s head the man talked, while the 
animal trembled with delight. Then the voice of the Harvester 
changed, dropping to tones of gravest import. 

“Now how about that other matter, Bel? You decide that also. 
The time has come again. Steady now! This is far more impor- 
tant than the other. Just to be wiped out, Bel, pouf! ‘That isn’t 
anything and it concerns only ourselves. But to bring misery into 
our lives and live with it daily, that would be a condition to rend 
the soul. So careful, Bel! Cautious now!” 

The voice of the man dropped to a whisper as he asked the 
question: “What about the girl business?” 

Trembling with eagerness to do the thing that would bring 
more caressing, bewildered by unfamiliar words and tones, the 
dog hesitated. 

“Do I go on as I have ever since mother left me, rustling for 
grub, living in untrammelled freedom? Do I go on as before, 
Bel?” 

The Harvester paused and awaited the answer, with anxiety in 
his eyes as he searched the beast face. He had talked to that dog, 
as most men commune with their souls, for so long and played the 
game in such intense earnest that he felt the results final with him. 
The animal was immovable now, lost again, his eager eyes watch- 
ing the face of the master, his twitching ears waiting for words he 
recognized. After a long time the man continued slowly and hesi- 
tantly, as if fearing the outcome. He did not realize that there 
was sufficient anxiety in his voice to change its tones. 

“Or do I go courting this year? Do I rig up in uncomfortable 
store-clothes, and parade before the country and city girls and try 


4 THE HARVESTER 


to persuade the one I can get, probably—not the one I would 
want—to marry me, and come here and spoil all our good times? 
Do we want a woman around scolding if we are away from 
home, whining because she is lonesome, fretting for luxuries we 
cannot afford to give her? Are you going to let us in for a scrape 
like that, Bel?’ 

The bewildered dog could bear the unusual scene no longer. 
Taking the rising inflection, that sounded more familiar, for a 
cue, and his name for a certainty, he sprang forward, his tail 
waving as his nose touched the face of the Harvester. Then he 
shot across the driveway and lay in the spice thicket, half the ribs 
of one side aching, as he howled from the lowest depths of dog 
misery. 

“You ungrateful cur!” cried the Harvester. “What has come 
over you? Six years I have trusted you, and the answer has been 
right, every time! Confound your picture! Sentence me to tackle 
the girl proposition! I see myself! Do you know what it would 
mean? For the first thing you’d be chained, while I pranced over 
the country like a half-broken colt, trying to attract some girl. P'd 
have to waste time I need for my work and spend money that 
draws good interest while we sleep, to tempt her with presents. I’d 
have to rebuild the cabin and there’s not a chance in ten she 
would not fret the life out of me whining to go to the city to live, 
arrange for her here the best I could. Of all the fool, unreliable 
dogs that ever trod a man’s tracks, you are the limit! And you 
never before failed me! You blame, degenerate pup, you!” 

The Harvester paused for breath while the dog subsided to a 
pitiful whimper. He was eager to return to the man who had 
struck him the first blow his pampered body ever had received; 
but he could not understand a kick and harsh words for him, so 
he lay quivering with anxiety and fear. 

“You howling, whimpering idiot!” exclaimed the Harvester. 
“Choose a day like this to spoil! Air to intoxicate a mummy! 
Roots swelling! Buds bursting! Harvest close and you’d call me 
off to put me at work like that, would you? If I ever had sup- 
posed you’d lost all your senses, I never would have asked you. 
Six years you have decided my fate, when the first bluebird came, 


BELSHAZZAR’S DECISION 5 


and you’ve been true blue every time. If I ever trust you again! 
But the mischief is done now. 

“Have you forgotten that your name means ‘to protect? Don’t 
you remember it is because of that, it is your name? Protect! Pd 
have trusted you with my life, Bel! You gave it to me the time 
you pointed that rattler within six inches of my fingers in the 
blood-root bed. You saw the falling limb in time to warn me. 
You always know where the quicksands lie. But you are protect- 
ing me now, like sin, ain’t you? Bring a girl here to spoil both our 
lives! Not if I know myself! Protect!” 

The man arose and going inside the cabin closed the door. 
After’ that the dog lay in abject misery so deep that two big tears 
squeezed from his eyes and rolled down his face. To be shut out 
was worse than the blow. He did not take the trouble to arise 
from the wet leaves covering the cold earth, but closing his eyes 
went to sleep. 

The man leaned against the door, running his fingers through 
his hair as he anathematized the dog. Slowly his eyes travelled 
around the room. He saw his tumbled bed by the open window 
facing the lake, the small table with his writing material, the 
crude rack on the wall loaded with medical works, botanies, drug 
encyclopzedias, the books of the few authors who interested him, 
and the bare, muck-tracked floor. He went to the kitchen, where 
he built a fire in the cook stove, then to the smoke-house, from 
which he returned with a slice of ham and some eggs. He set some 
potatoes boiling and took bread, butter and milk from the pantry. 
Then he laid a small note-book on the table before him and 
studied the transactions of the day. 


10 lbs. wild cherry bark 6 cents $ .60 
5 ‘“ wahoo root bark aye yt 1.25 
20 “ witch hazel bark We» IE 1.00 
5 “ blue flag root I2Jasif 200 
10 “ snake root | 18 “ 1.80 
10 “ blood root L Shy oles, 1.20 
15 “ hoarhound TOR. 1.50 


$7.95 


6 Tin Eb CHA R VES ER 


“Not so bad,” he muttered, bending over the figures. “I won- 
der if any of my neighbours who harvest the fields average as well 
at this season. Ill wager they don’t. 'That’s pretty fair! Some days 
I don’t make it, but when a consignment of seeds go or ginseng is 
wanted the cash comes in right properly. I could waste half of it 
on a girl and yet save money. But where is the woman who would 
be content with half? She’d want all and fret because there wasn’t 
more. Blame that dog!” 

He put the book in his pocket, prepared and ate his supper, 
heaped a plate generously, placed it on the floor beneath the 
table, then set away the food that remained. 

“Not that you deserve it,” he said to space. “You get this in 
honour of your distinguished name and the faithfulness with 
which you formerly have lived up to its import. If you hadn’t 
been a dog with more sense than some men, I wouldn’t take your 
going back on me now so hard. One would think an animal of 
your intelligence might realize that you would get as much of a 
dose as I. Would she permit you to eat from a plate on the 
kitchen floor? Not on your life, Belshazzar! Frozen scraps around 
the door for you! Would she allow you to sleep across the foot of 
the bed? Ho, ho, ho! Would she have you tracking on her floor? 
It would be the barn, and growling you didn’t do at that. If I’'d 
‘serve you right, I’d give you a dose and allow you to see how you 
like it. But it’s cutting off my nose to spite my face, as the old 
adage goes, for whatever she did to a dog, she’d probably do 
worse to a man. I think not!” 

He entered the front room and stood before a long shelf on 
which were arranged an array of partially completed candlesticks 
carved from wood. There were black and white walnut, red, 
white, and golden oak, cherry and curly maple, all in original 
designs. Some of them were oddities, others were failures, but 
most of them were unusually successful. He selected one of black 
walnut, carved until the outline of his pattern was barely distin- 
guishable. He was imitating the trunk of a tree with the bark on, 
the spreading, fern-covered roots widening for the base, from 
which a vine sprang. Near the top was the crude outline of a big 


BELSHAZZAR’S DECISION 7 


night moth climbing toward the light. He stood turning this stick 
with loving hands and holding it from him for inspection. 

“TI am going to master you!”’ he exulted. “Your lines are right. 
The design balances and it’s graceful. If I have any trouble it will 
be with the moth, and I think I can manage. I’ve got to decide 
whether to use cecropia or polyphemus before long. Really, on a 
walnut, and in the woods, it should be a luna, according to the 
eternal fitness of things—but I’m afraid of the trailers. They turn 
over and half curl so I believe I had better not tackle them for a 
start. Pll use the easiest to begin on, then if I succeed I’ll duplicate 
the pattern and try a luna.” 

The Harvester selected a knife from the box and began carving 
the stick slowly and carefully. His brain was busy, for presently he 
glanced at the floor. 

“She'd object to that!” he said emphatically. ““A man could no 
more sit and work where he pleased than he could fly. At least 
I know mother never would have it, and she was no nagger, 
either. What a mother she was! If one only could stop the lonely 
feeling that will creep in, and the aching hunger born with the 
body, for a mate; if a fellow only could stop it with a woman like 
mother! How she revelled in sunshine and beauty! How she loved 
earth and air! How she went straight to the marrow of the finest 
line in the best book I could bring from the library! How clean 
and true she was and how unyielding! I can hear her now, hold- 
ing me with her last breath to my promise. If I could marry a 
girl like mother—great Cesar! You’d see me buying an automo- 
bile to make the run to the county clerk. Wouldn’t that be great! 
Think of coming in from a long, difficult day, to find a hot sup- 
per, and a girl such as she must have been, waiting for me! Bel, 
if I thought there was a woman similar to her in all the world, 
and I had even the ghost of a chance to win her, Id call you in 
and forgive you. But I know the girls of to-day. I pass them on 
the roads, on the streets, see them in the cafés, stores, and at the 
library. Why even the nurses at the hospital, for all the gravity of 
their positions, are a giggling, silly lot; and they never know that 
the only time they look and act presentably to me is when they 
stop their chatter, put on their uniforms, and go to work. Some of 


8 THE HARVESTER 


them are pretty, then. There’s a little blue-eyed one, but all she 
needs is feathers to make her a ‘ha! ha! bird.’ Drat that dog!” 

The Harvester took the candlestick and the box of knives, 
opened the door, and returned to the stoop. Belshazzar arose, 
pleading in his eyes, and cautiously advanced a few steps. ‘The 
man bent over his work and paid not the slightest heed, so the 
discouraged dog sank to earth, fixedly watching the unresponsive 
master. The carving of the candlestick continued steadily. Occa- 
sionally the Harvester lifted his head and repeatedly drew his 
lungs full of air. Sometimes for an instant he scanned the surface 
of the lake for signs of breaking fish or splash of migrant water 
bird. Again his gaze wandered up the steep hill, crowned with 
giant trees, whose swelling buds he could see and smell. Straight 
before him lay a low marsh, through which the little creek that 
gurgled and tumbled down hill curved, crossed the drive some 
distance below, and entered the lake of Lost Loons. 

While the trees were bare, and when the air was clear as now, 
he could see the spires of Onabasha, five miles away, intervening 
cultivated fields, stretches of wood, the long black line of the rail- 
way, and the swampy bottom lands gradually rising to the culmi- 
nation of the tree-crowned summit above him. His cocks were 
crowing warlike challenges to rivals on neighbouring farms. His 
hens were carolling their spring egg song. In the barnyard ganders 
were screaming stridently. Over the lake and the cabin, with 
clapping snowy wings, his white doves circled in a last joy-flight 
before seeking their cotes in the stable loft. As the light grew 
fainter, the Harvester worked slower. Often he leaned against the 
casing, closing his eyes to rest them. Sometimes he whistled 
snatches of old songs to which his mother had cradled him, and 
again bits of opera or popular music he had heard on the streets 
of Onabasha. As he worked, the sun went down, then a half 
moon appeared above the wood across the lake. Once it seemed 
as if it were a silver bowl set on the branch of a giant oak; higher, 
it rested a tilted crescent on the rim of a cloud. 

The dog waited until he could endure it no longer, then 
straightening from his crouching position, he took a few velvet 
steps forward, making faint, whining sounds in his throat. When 


BELSHAZZAR’S DECISION 9 


the man neither turned his head nor gave him a glance, Bel- 
shazzar sank to earth again, satisfied for the moment with being 
closer. Across Loon Lake came the wavering voice of a night love 
song. ‘he Harvester remembered that as a boy he had shrunk 
from those notes until his mother explained that they were made 
by a little brown owl asking for a mate to come and live in his 
hollow tree. Now he rather liked the sound. It was eloquent of 
earnest pleading. With the lonely bird on one side, and the re- 
proachful dog eyes on the other, the man grinned foolishly. 

Between two fires, he thought. If that dog ever catches my eye 
he will come tearing as a cyclone. I would not kick him again for 
a hundred dollars. First time I ever struck him, and didn’t intend 
to then. So blame mad and disappointed my foot just shot out 
before I knew it. There he lies half dead to make up, but I’m 
blest if I forgive him in a hurry. And there is that insane little owl 
screeching for a mate. If I’d start out making sounds like that, all 
the girls would line up in competition for possession of my happy 
home. 

The Harvester laughed. At the sound Belshazzar took courage 
to advance five steps before he sank belly to earth again. The owl 
continued its song. The Harvester imitated the cry and at once it 
responded. He called again, then leaned back waiting. The notes 
came closer. ‘The Harvester cried once more, peering across the 
lake, watching for the shadow of silent wings. The moon was 
high above the trees now, the knife dropped in the box, the long 
fingers closed around the stick, the head rested against the casing, 
while the man intoned the cry with all his skill; then watched and 
waited. He had been straining his eyes over the carving until they 
were tired, and when he watched for the bird the moonlight tried 
them; for it touched the lightly rippling waves of the lake in a 
line of yellow light that stretched straight across the water from ° 
the opposite bank, directly to the gravel bed below, where lay the 
bathing pool. It made a path of gold that wavered and shim- 
mered as the water moved gently, but it appeared sufficiently 
material to resemble a bridge spanning the lake. 

“Seems as if I could walk it,’ muttered the Harvester. 

‘The owl cried again while the man watched the opposite bank, 


IO THE HARVESTER 


He could not see the bird, but in the deep wood where he thought 
it might be he began to discern a misty, moving shimmer of 
white. Marvelling, he watched closer. So slowly he could not de- 
tect motion it advanced, rising in height and taking shape. 

“Do I end this day by seeing a ghost?” he queried. 

He gazed intently, then saw that a white figure really moved in 
the woods of the opposite bank. 

“Must be some boys playing fool pranks!” exclaimed the 
Harvester. 

He watched fixedly with interested face; then amazement 
wiped out all other expression while he sat motionless, breathless, 
looking, intently looking. For the white object came straight 
toward the water and at the very edge unhesitatingly stepped 
upon the bridge of gold and lightly, easily advanced in his direc- 
tion. The man waited. On came the figure, and as it drew closer 
he could see that it was a very tall, extremely slender woman, 
wrapped in soft robes of white. She stepped along the slender 
line of the gold bridge with grace unequalled. 

From the water arose a shining mist, and behind the advancing 
figure a wall of light outlined and rimmed her in a setting of gold. 
As she neared the shore the Harvester’s blood began to race in his 
veins while his lips parted in wonder. First she was like a slender » 
birch trunk, then she resembled a wild lily, and soon she was close 
enough to prove that she was young and very lovely. Heavy braids 
of dark hair rested on her head as a coronet. Her forehead was 
low and white. Her eyes were wide-open wells of darkness, her 
rounded cheeks faintly pink, her red lips smiling invitation. Her 
throat was long, very white, and the hands that caught up the 
fleecy robe around her were rose-coloured and slender. In a panic 
the Harvester saw that the trailing robe swept the undulant gold 
’ water, but was not wet; the feet that alternately showed as she 
advanced were not purple with cold, but warm with a pink glow. 

She was coming straight toward him, wonderful, alluring, 
lovely beyond any woman the Harvester ever had seen. Straight- 
way the fountains of twenty-six years’ repression overflowed in 
the breast of the man and all his being ran toward her in a wave 
of desire. On she came, until her feet were on the white gravel. 


PEL SBAZZAR*S DECISTON II 


When he could see clearly she was even more beautiful than she 
had appeared at a distance. He opened his lips, but no sound 
came. He struggled to rise, but his legs would not bear his weight. 
Helpless, he sank against the casing. The girl walked to his feet, 
bent, placed a hand on each of his shoulders, smiling into his 
eyes. He could scent the flower-like odour of her body and wrap- 
ping, even her hair. He struggled frantically to speak to her as she 
leaned closer, yet closer, and softly but firmly laid lips of pulsing 
sweetness on his in a deliberate kiss. 

The Harvester was on his feet now. Belshazzar shrank into the 
shadows. 

“Come back!” cried the man. “Come back! For the love of 
mercy, where are you?” 

He ran stumblingly toward the lake. The bridge of gold was 
there, the little owl cried lonesomely. Did he see or did he only 
dream he saw a mist of white vanishing in the opposite wood? 

His breath came between dry lips. He circled the cabin search- 
ing eagerly, but he could find nothing, hear nothing, save the dog 
at his heels. He hurried to the stoop and stood gazing at the 
molten path of moonlight. One minute he was half frozen, the 
next a rosy glow enfolded him. Slowly he lifted a hand to touch 
his lips. Then he raised his eyes from the water and swept the sky 
in a penetrant gaze. 

“My gracious Heavenly Father,” said the Harvester reverently. 
“Would it be like that?” 


CHAPTER. II 


The Effect of a Dream 


FuLty convinced that he had been dreaming, the Harvester 
picked up his knives and candlestick and entered the cabin. He 
placed them on a shelf and turned away, but after a second’s 
hesitation he closed the box and arranged the sticks neatly. ‘Then 
he set the room in order, carefully sweeping the floor. As he re- 
placed the broom he thought for an instant, then opened the door 
and whistled softly. Belshazzar came at a rush. The Harvester 
pushed the plate of food toward the hungry dog, which ate greed- 
ily. The man returned to the front room, closing the door. 

He stood a long time before his shelf of books; at last he se- 
lected a volume of “Medicinal Plants” and settled to study. His 
supper finished, Belshazzar came scratching and whining at the 
door. Several times the man lifted his head and glanced in that 
direction, but he only returned to his book. Tired and sleepy, he 
placed the volume on the shelf, undressed, opened the door, and 
ran to the lake. He plunged with a splash and swam vigorously 
for a few minutes, his white body growing pink under the sting of 
the chilled water. He rubbed to a glow and turned back the 
covers of his bed. The door and window stood wide. Before he 
lay down, the Harvester paused in arrested motion a second, then 
stepped to the kitchen door, lifting the latch. 

As the man drew the covers over him, the dog’s nose began 
making an opening: a little later he quietly walked into the room. 
The Harvester rested, facing the lake. The dog sniffed at his 


THE EFFECT OF A DREAM 13 


shoulder, but the man was rigid. ‘Then the click of nails could be 
heard on the floor as Belshazzar went to the opposite side. At his 
accustomed piace he paused to set one foot on the bed. There 
was not a sound, so he lifted the other. Then one at a time he 
drew up his hind feet, crouching as he had on the gravel. The 
man lay watching the bright bridge. The moonlight entered the 
window, flooding the room. The strong lines on the weather- 
beaten face of the Harvester were mellowed in the light, so that 
he appeared young and good to see. His lithe figure stretched the 
length of the bed, his hair appeared almost white, while his face, 
touched by the glorifying light of the moon, was a study. 

One instant his countenance was swept with ultimate scorn; 
then gradually that would fade, the lines would soften, until his 
lips curved in child-like appeal while his eyes were filled with 
pleading. Several times he lifted a hand to gently touch his lips, 
as if a kiss were a material thing that might leave tangible evi- 
dence of having been given. After a long time his eyes closed. He 
scarcely was unconscious before Belshazzar’s cold nose met the 
outstretched hand. The Harvester lifted and laid it on the dog’s 
head. 

“Forgive me, Bel,” he muttered. “I never did that. I wouldn’t 
have hurt you for anything. It happened before I had time to 
think.” 

They both fell asleep. The clear-cut lines of manly strength on 
the face of the Harvester were touched to tender beauty. He lay 
smiling gently. Far in the night he realized the frost-chill so he 
divided the coverlet with the happy Belshazzar. 

The golden dream never came again. There was no need. It 
had done its perfect work. The Harvester awoke the next morn- 
ing a different man. His face was youthful and alive with alert 
anticipation. He began his work with eager impetuosity, whistling 
or singing the while. He found time to play with and talk to 
Belshazzar, until that glad beast almost wagged off his tail in 
delight. They breakfasted together and arranged the rooms with 
unusual care. 

“You see,” explained the Harvester to the dog, “we must walk 
neatly after this. Maybe there is such a thing as fate. Possibly 


14 THE HARVESTER 


your answer was right. There might be a girl in the world for me. 
I don’t expect it, but there is a possibility that she may find us 
before we locate her. Anyway, we should work so as to be ready. 
All the old stock in the storehouse goes out as soon as we can cart 
it. A new cabin shall rise as fast as we can build it. There must 
be a basement and furnace, too. Dream women do not have cold 
feet, but if there is a girl living like that, and she is coming to us 
or waiting for us to come to her, we must have a comfortable 
home to offer. ‘There should be a bathroom, too. She couldn’t dip 
in the lake as we do. And until we build the new house we must 
keep the old one clean, on the chance of her happening on us. 
She might be visiting some of the neighbours or come from town 
with some one or I might see her on the street, or at the library 
or hospital or in some of the stores. For the love of mercy, help me 
watch for her, Bel! ‘The half of my kingdom if you will point her 
for me!” 

The Harvester worked as he talked. He set the rooms in order, 
put away the remains of breakfast, and started to the stable. He 
turned back, standing for a long time scanning the face in the 
kitchen mirror. Once he went to the door, then he hesitated; 
finally took out his shaving set, using it carefully and washing 
vigorously. He pulled his shirt together at the throat, then hunt- 
ing among his clothing, found an old red tie that he knotted 
around his neck. This so changed his every-day appearance that 
he felt wonderfully dressed and whistled gaily on his way to the 
barn. There he confided in the old gray mare as he curried and 
harnessed her to the spring wagon. 

“Hardly know me, do you, Betsy?” he inquired. “Well [ll ex- 
plain. Our friend Bel, here, has doomed me to go courting this 
year. Wouldn’t that dumfound you? I was mad as hornets at first, 
but since I’ve slept on the idea, I rather like it. Maybe we are too 
lonely and dull. Perhaps the right woman would make life a very 
different matter. Last night I saw her, Betsy, and between us, I 
can’t tell even you. She was the loveliest, sweetest girl on earth; 
that is all I can say. We are going to watch for her to-day, and 
every trip we make, until we find her, if it requires a hundred 
years. Then some glad time we are going to locate her, and when 


THE EFFECT OF A DREAM 15 


we do, well, you just keep your eye on us, Betsy, then you'll see 
how courting straight from the heart is done, even if we lack 
experience.” 

Intoxicated with new and delightful sensations his tongue 
worked faster than his hands. 

“J don’t mind telling you, old faithful, that I am in love this 
morning,” he said. “In love heels over, Betsy, for the first time in 
all my life. If any man ever was a bigger fool than I am to-day, it 
would comfort me to know about it. I am acting like an idiot, 
Betsy. I know that, but I wish you could understand how I feel. 
Power! I am the head-waters of Niagara! I could pluck down 
the stars and set them in different places! I could twist the tail 
from the comet! I could twirl the globe on my palm, topple 
mountains and wipe lakes from the surface! I am a live man, 
Betsy. Existence is over. So don’t you go at any tricks or I might 
pull off your head. Betsy, if you see the tallest girl you ever saw, 
- one who wears a dark diadem, has big black eyes and a face so 
lovely it blinds you, why you have seen Her; then you balk, right 
on the spot, and stand like the rock of Gibraltar, until you make 
me see her, too. As if I wouldn’t know she was coming a mile 
away! There’s more I could tell you, but that is my secret, and 
it’s too precious to talk about, even to my best friends. Bel, bring 
Betsy to the storeroom.” 

The Harvester tossed the hitching strap to the dog and walked 
down the driveway to a low structure built on the embankment 
beside the lake. One end of it was a dry-house of his own con- 
struction. Here, by an arrangement of hot water pipes, he evapo- 
rated many of the barks, roots, seeds, and leaves he grew to supply 
large concerns engaged in the manufacture of drugs. By his proc- 
ess crude stock was thoroughly cured, yet did not lose in weight 
and colour as when dried in the sun or outdoor shade. 

So the Harvester was enabled to send his customers big pack- 
ages of brightly coloured raw material, while the few cents per 
pound he asked in advance of the catalogued prices were paid 
eagerly. He lived alone, never talking of his work; so none of the 
harvesters of the fields adjoining dreamed of the extent of his 
reaping. The idea had been his own. He had been born in the 


16 TRIPE? DWARVES LER 


cabin in which he now lived. His father and grandfather were 
old-time hunters and trappers. ‘They had added to their earnings 
by gathering in spring and fall the few medicinal seeds, leaves, 
and barks they knew. His mother had been of different type. She 
had loved and married the picturesque young hunter, and gone 
to live with him on the section of land taken by his father. She 
found life, real life, vastly different from her girlhood dreams, 
but she was one of those changeless, unyielding women who suffer 
silently, but never rue a bargain, no matter how badly they are 
cheated. Her only joy in life had been her son. For him she had 
worked and saved unceasingly. When he was old enough she 
sent him to the city to school, then kept pace with him in the 
lessons he brought home at night. 

Using what she knew of her husband’s work as a guide, and 
profiting by pamphlets published by the government, every hour 
of the time outside school and in summer vacations she worked 
in the woods with the boy, gathering herbs and roots to pay for 
his education and clothing. So the son passed the full high-school 
course, then selecting such branches as interested him, continued 
his studies alone. 

From books and drug pamphlets he had learned every medic- 
inal plant, shrub, and tree of his vicinity, and for years roamed 
far afield and through the woods collecting. After his father’s 
death expenses grew heavier, so the boy saw that he must earn 
more money. His mother frantically opposed his going to the 
city, so he thought out the plan of transplanting the stuff he 
gathered, to the land they owned and cultivating it there. This 
work was well developed when he was twenty, but that year he 
lost his mother. 

From that time he continued steadily enlarging his species, 
transplanting trees, shrubs, vines, and medicinal herbs from such 
locations as he found them, to similar conditions on his land. Six 
years he had worked cultivating these beds, and hunting through 
the woods on the river banks, government land, the great Limber- 
lost Swamp, and neglected corners of earth for barks and roots. 
He occasionally made long trips across the country for rapidly 
diminishing plants he found in the woodland of men who did not 


THE EFFECTOF Ai DREAM 17 


care to bother with a few specimens. Many big beds of profitable 
herbs, extinct for miles around, now flourished on the banks of 
Loon Lake, in the marsh, and through the forest rising above. 
To what extent and value his venture had grown, no one save 
the Harvester knew. When his neighbours twitted him with being 
too lazy to plow and sow, of “mooning” over books, or derisively 
sneered when they spoke of him as the Harvester of the Woods 
or the Medicine Man, David Langston smiled and went his way. 

How lonely he had been since the death of his mother he never 
realized until that morning when a new idea really had taken 
possession of him. From the storehouse he heaped packages of 
seeds, dried leaves, barks, and roots into the wagon. But he kept 
a generous supply of each, for he prided himself on being able to 
fill all orders that reached him. Yet the load he took to the city 
was much larger than usual. As he drove down the hill and passed 
the cabin he studied the location. 

“The drainage is perfect,’ he said to Belshazzar beside him 
on the seat. “So is the site. We have the cool breezes from the 
lake in summer and the hillside warmth in winter. View down 
the valley can’t be surpassed. We will grub out that thicket in 
front, move over the driveway, build a couple of two-story rooms, 
with basement for cellar and furnace, and a bathroom in front 
of the cabin, then use it with some fixing over for a dining-room 
and kitchen. Then we will deepen and widen Singing Water, 
stick a bushel of bulbs and roots and sow a peck of flower seeds 
in the marsh, plant a hedge along the drive, and straighten the 
lake shore a little. I can make a beautiful wild-flower garden and 
arrange so that with one season’s work this will appear very well. 
We will express this stuff and then select and fell some trees to- 
night. Soon as the frost is out of the ground we will dig our base- 
ment and lay the foundations. The neighbours will help me raise 
the logs; after that I can finish the inside work. Pve got some 
dried maple, cherry, and walnut logs that would work into beau- 
tiful furniture. I haven’t forgot the prices McLean offered me. I 
can use it as well as he. Plain way the best things are built now, 
I believe I could make tables and couches myself. I can see plans 
in the magazines at the library. I’ll take a look when I get this 


18 THE HARVESTER 


off. I feel strong enough to do all of it in a few days and I am 
crazy to commence. But I scarcely know where to begin. There 
are about fifty things I’d like to do. But to fell and dry the trees 
and raise the walls come first, I believe. What do you think, old 
unreliable?” 

Belshazzar thought the world was a place of beauty that morn- 
ing. He sniffed the icy, odorous air while with tilted head he 
watched the birds. A wearied band of ducks had settled on Loon 
Lake to feed and rest, for there was nothing to disturb them. 
Signs were numerous everywhere prohibiting hunters from firing 
over the Harvester’s land. Beside the lake, down the valley, cross- 
ing the railroad, and in the farther lowlands, the dog was a nerv- 
ous quiver, as he constantly scented game or saw birds he wanted 
to point. When they neared the city, he sat silently watching 
everything with alert eyes. As they reached the outer fringe of 
residences the Harvester spoke to him. 

‘““Now remember, Bel,” he said. “Point me the tallest girl you 
ever saw, with a big braid of dark hair, shining black eyes, and 
red velvet lips, sweeter than wild crabapple blossoms. Make a 
dead set! Don’t allow her to pass us. Heaven is going to begin in 
Medicine Woods when we find her and prove to her that there 
lies her happy home. 

“When we find her,” repeated the Harvester softly and exult- 
antly. ““When we find her!” 

He said it again and again, pronouncing the words with tender 
modulations. Because he was chanting it in his soul, in his heart, 
in his brain, with his lips, he had a hasty glance for every woman 
he passed. Light hair, blue eyes, and short figures got only casual 
inspection; but any tall girl with dark hair and eyes endured 
rather close scrutiny that morning. He drove to the express office 
to deliver his packages and then to the hospital. In the hall the 
blue-eyed nurse met him and cried gaily “Good morning, Medi- 
cine Man!” 

“Ugh! I scalp pale-faces!”’ threatened the Harvester, but the 
girl was not afraid for she stood before him laughing. She might 
have gone her way quite as well. She could not have differed 
more from the girl of the newly begun quest. The man merely 


THE EFFECT OF A DREAM 19 


touched his wide-brimmed hat as he walked around her to enter 
the office of the chief surgeon. 

A slender, gray-eyed man with white hair turned from his desk, 
smiled warmly, pushed a chair, and reached a welcoming hand: 
“Ah, good morning, David,’ he cried. “You bring the very 
breath of spring with you. Are you at the maples yet?” 

“Begin to-morrow,” was the answer. “I want to work all my 
old stock off hands. Sugar water comes next, then the giddy 
sassafras and spring roots rush me, and after that, harvest begins 
full force, with all my land teeming. This is going to be a big 
year. I have decided to enlarge the buildings.” 

“Storeroom too small?” 

“Everything!” said the Harvester comprehensively. 

“Ho, ho!” laughed the doctor. “ “Crowded everywhere.’ I 
had not heard of cramped living quarters before. When did you 
meet her?” 

“Last night,” replied the Harvester. “Her home is already in 
construction. I chose seven trees as I drove here that are going to 
fall before night.” 

So casual was the tone the doctor was disarmed. 

“T am trying your nerve remedy,” he said. 

Instantly the Harvester tingled with interest. “How does it 
work?” 

“Finely! Had a case that presented exactly the symptoms you 
mentioned. High-school girl broken down from trying to lead her 
classes, lead her fraternity, lead her parents, lead society—the 
Lord only knows what else. Gone all to pieces! Pretty a case of 
nervous prostration as you ever saw in a person of fifty. I began 
on fractional doses with it, and at last got her where she can rest. 
It did precisely what you claimed it would, David.” 

“Good!” cried the Harvester. “Good! I hoped it would be 
effective. Thank you for the test. It will give me confidence when 
I go before the chemists with it. I’ve got several more compounds 
I wish you would try when you have safe cases where you can do 
no harm.” 

“You are cautious for a young man, son!” 


20 THE HARVESTER 


“The woods do that. You not only discover miracles and mar- 
vels in them, you not only trace evolution and the origin of spe- 
cies, but you learn the greatest lessons taught in all the world, 
early and alone—courage, caution, and patience.” 

‘“Those are the rocks on which men are stranded as a rule. You 
think you can breast them, David?” 

The Harvester laughed. 

“Aside from breaking a certain promise mother rooted in the 
blood and bones of me, if I am afraid of anything, I don’t know 
it. You don’t often see me going headlong, do you? As to pa- 
tience! Ten years ago I began removing every tree, bush, vine, 
and plant of medicinal value from the woods around to my land; 
I set and sowed acres in ginseng, knowing I must nurse, tend, 
and cultivate seven years. If my neighbours had understood what 
I was attempting, what do you think they would have said? 
Cranky and lazy would have become adjectives too mild. Lunatic 
would have expressed it better. That’s close the general opinion, 
anyway. Because I will not fell my trees, and the woods hide the 
work I do, it is generally conceded that I spend my time in the 
sun reading a book. I do, as often as I have an opportunity. But 
the point is that this fall, when I harvest my ginseng bed, I will 
clear more money than my stiffest detractor ever saw at one time. 
I'll wager my bank account won’t compare so unfavourably with 
the best of them now. I did well this morning. Yes, Ill admit this 
much: I am reasonably cautious, I’m a pattern for patience, and 
my courage never has failed me yet, anyway. But I must rap 
on wood; for that boast is a sign that I probably will meet my 
Jonah soon.” 

“David, you are a man after my own heart,” said the doctor. 
“T love you more than any other friend I have. Now I must hurry 
to my operation. Remain as long as you please if there is anything 
that interests you; but don’t let the giggling little nurse who 
always haunts the hall when you come make any impression. 
She is not up to your standard.” 

“Don’t!” said the Harvester. “I’ve learned one of the big les- 
sons of life since last I saw you, Doc. I have no standard. ‘There 
is only one woman in the world for me. When I find her I shall 


THE ‘EFFECT: OF A DREAM 21 


know her, and be happy for even a glance; as for that talk of 
standards, I shall be only too glad to take her as she is.” 

“David! I supposed what you said about enlarged buildings 
was nonsense or applied to storerooms.”’ 

“Go to your operation!” 

“David, if you send me in suspense, I may operate on the 
wrong man. What has happened?” 

“Nothing!” said the Harvester. “Nothing!” 

“David, it is not like you to evade. What happened?” 

“Nothing! On my word! I merely saw a vision and dreamed 
a dream.” 

“You! A rank materialist! ‘Saw a vision and dreamed a 
dream!’ And you call it nothing. Worst thing that could happen! 
Whenever a man of common sense goes to seeing things that don’t 
exist, and dreaming dreams, why look out! What did you see? 
What did you dream?” 

“You woman!” laughed the Harvester. “Talk about curiosity! 
I'd have to be a poet to describe my vision, and the dream was 
strictly private. I couldn’t tell it, not for any price you could men- 
tion. Go to your operation.” 

The doctor paused on the threshold. “You can’t fool me,” he 
said. “I can diagnose you all right. You are poet enough, but 
the vision was sacred; and when a man won’t tell, it’s always and 
forever a woman. I know all now I ever shall, because I know 
you, David. A man with a loose mouth and a low mind drags the 
woman of his acquaintance through whatever mire he sinks in; 
but you couldn’t tell, David, not even about a dream woman. 
Come again soon! You are my elixir of life, lad! I revel in the 
atmosphere you bring. Wish me success now, I am going to a 
difficult, delicate operation.” 

“I do!” cried the Harvester heartily. “I do! But you can’t 
fail. You never have and that proves you cannot! Good-bye!” 

Down the street went the Harvester, passing over city pave 
with his free, swinging stride, his head high, his face flushed with 
vivid outdoor tints, going somewhere to do something worth 
while, the impression always left behind him. Men envied his 
robust appearance and women looked twice, always twice, and 


| 
P48 THE HARVESTER 
sometimes oftener if there were an opportunity; but twice at 
least was the rule. He left a little roll of bills at the bank then 
started toward the library. When he entered the reading room an 
attendant with an eager smile hastily came toward him. 

“What will you have this morning, Mr. Langston?” she asked 
in the voice of one who would render willing service. 

“Not the big books to-day,” laughed the Harvester. “I’ve only 
a short time. Ill glance through the magazines.” 

He selected several from a table, then going to a corner settled 
with them and for two hours was deeply engrossed. He took an 
envelope from his pocket, traced lines, and read intently. He 
studied the placing of rooms, the construction of furniture, and 
all attractive ideas were noted. When at last he arose the Har- 
vester slowly went down the street. Before every furniture store 
he paused to study the designs displayed in the windows. Then he 
untied Betsy, drove to a lumber mill on the outskirts of the city 
and made arrangements to have some freshly felled logs of black 
walnut and curly maple sawed into different sizes and put through 
a course in drying. 

He drove back to Medicine Woods whistling, singing, and talk- 
ing to Belshazzar beside him. He ate a hasty lunch and at three 
o'clock was in the forest, blazing and felling slender, straight- 
trunked oak and ash of the desired proportions. 


CHAPTER III 


Harvesting the Forest 


Tue forest is never so wonderful as when spring wrestles with 
winter for supremacy. While the earth is yet ice bound, while 
snows occasionally fly, spring breathes her warmer breath of 
approach, then all nature responds. Sunny knolls, embankments, 
and cleared spaces become bare, while shadow spots and shel- 
tered nooks remain white. ‘This perfumes the icy air with melting 
snow. he sap rises in the trees and bushes, sets buds swelling, 
and they distil a faint, intangible odour. Deep layers of dead 
leaves cover the frozen earth, while the sun shining on them raises 
a steamy vapour unlike anything else in nature. A different scent 
arises from earth where the sun strikes it. Lichen faces take on the 
brightest colours they ever wear, and rough, coarse mosses emerge 
in rank growth from their cover of snow and add another per- 
fume to mellowing air. This combination has breathed a strange 
intoxication into the breast of mankind in all ages, and bird and 
animal life prove by their actions that it makes the same appeal 
to them. 

Crows caw supremacy from tall trees; flickers, drunk on the 
wine of nature, flash their yellow-lined wings and red crowns 
among trees in a search for suitable building places; nut-hatches 
run head foremost down rough trunks spying out larve and early 
emerging insects; titmice chatter; the bold, clear whistle of the 
cardinal sounds never so gaily; while song sparrows pipe from 
every wayside shrub and fence post. Coons and opossums stir in 


24 T H.Es HA RWVcE Sel ER 


their dens, musk-rat and ground-hog inspect the weather, the 
squirrels race along branches and bound from tree to tree like 
winged folk. 

All of them could have outlined the holdings of the Harvester 
almost as well as any surveyor. ‘They understood where the bang 
of guns and the snap of traps menaced life. Best of all, they knew 
where cracked nuts, handfuls of wheat, oats, and crumbs were 
scattered on the ground, and where suet bones dangled from 
bushes. Here, too, the last sheaf from the small wheat field at the 
foot of the hill was stoutly fixed on a high pole, so that it was free 
to all feathered visitors. 

When the Harvester hitched Betsy, loaded his spiles and sap 
buckets into the wagon, and started to the woods to gather the 
offering the wet maples were pouring down their swelling sides, 
almost his entire family came to see him. ‘They knew who fed and 
every day protected them and so were unafraid. 

After the familiarity of a long, cold winter, when it had been 
easier to pick up scattered food than to search for it, they became 
so friendly with the man, the dog, and the gray horse that they 
hastily ate the food offered at the barn and then followed through 
the woods. The Harvester always was particular to wear large 
pockets, for it was good company to have living creatures flocking 
after him, trusting to his bounty. Ajax, a shimmering wonder of 
gorgeous feathers, sunned on the ridge pole of the old log stable, 
preened, spread his train, and uttered the peacock cry of defiance, 
to exercise his voice or to express his emotions at all times. But at 
feeding hour he descended to the park and snatched bites from 
the biggest turkey cocks and ganders and reigned in power ab- 
solute over ducks, guineas, and chickens. Then he followed to 
the barn and tried to frighten crows and jays, and the gentle 
white doves under the eaves. 

The Harvester walked through deep leaves and snow covering 
the road that only a forester could have distinguished. Over his 
shoulder he carried a mattock, and in the wagon were his clippers 
and an ax. Behind him came Betsy drawing the sap buckets and 
big evaporating kettles. Through the wood ranged Belshazzar, 
the craziest dog in all creation. 


HARVESTING THE FOREST 25 


At camp the man unhitched Betsy and tied her to the wagon 
and for several hours distributed buckets. Then he hung the 
kettles and gathered wood for the fire. At noon he returned to 
the cabin for lunch, bringing back a load of empty syrup cans, 
and barrels in which to collect the sap. While the buckets filled at 
the dripping trees, he dug roots in the sassafras thicket to fill 
orders and supply the demand of Onabasha for tea. Several times 
he stopped to cut an especially fine tree. 

“You know I hate to kill you,” he apologized to the first one he 
felled. “But it certainly must be legitimate for a man to take 
enough of his trees to build a home. And no other house is pos- 
sible for a creature of the woods but a cabin, is there? The birds 
use of the material they find here; surely I have the right to do the 
same.” 

He swung the ax and the chips flew as he worked on a straight 
half-grown oak. After a time he paused an instant and rested, 
and as he did so he looked speculatively at his work. “I wonder 
where she is to-day,” he said. “I wonder what she is going to 
think of a log cabin in the woods. Maybe she has been reared in 
the city and is afraid of a forest. She may not like houses made 
of logs. Possibly she won’t want to marry a Medicine Man. She 
may dislike the man, not to mention his occupation. She may 
think it coarse and common to work out of doors with your hands, 
although I’d have to argue there is a little brain in the combina- 
tion. I must figure out all these things. But there is one on the 
lady: she should have settled these points before she became quite 
so familiar. I have that for a foundation anyway, so Pll go on 
cutting wood, and the remainder will be up to her when I find 
her. When I find her,” repeated the Harvester slowly. “But I 
am not going to locate her very soon monkeying around in these 
woods. I should be out where people are, looking for her right 
now.” , 

He chopped steadily until the tree crashed over, then, noticing 
an overflowing bucket, he stuck the ax in the wood and began 
gathering sap. When he had made the round, he drove to camp, 
filled the kettles, and lighted the fire. While it started he cut and 
scraped sassafras roots, made clippings of tag alder, spice brush 


26 THE HARVESTER 


and white willow into big bundles that were ready to have the 
bark removed during the night watch, and then cured in the dry- 
house. 

He went home at evening to feed the poultry and replenish 
the ever-burning fire of the engine and to keep the cabin warm 
enough that food would not freeze. With an oilcloth and blankets 
he returned to camp and throughout the night tended the buckets 
and boiling sap, and worked or dozed beside the fire between 
times. Toward the end of boiling, when the sap was becoming 
thick, it had to be watched with especial care so it would not 
scorch. But when the kettles were freshly filled the Harvester sat 
beside them and carefully split tender twigs of willow and slipped 
off the bark ready to be spread on the trays. 

“You are a good tonic,” he mused as he worked, “‘and you go 
‘nto some of the medicine for rheumatism. Strange that I should 
be preparing medicinal bark by the sugar camp fire, but I have 
to make this hay, not while the sun shines, but when the bark is 
loose, while the sap is rising. I hope it will take the pain out of 
some poor body. Prices so low now, not worth gathering unless 
I can kill time on it while waiting for something else. That's all 
of you—about twenty-five cents’ worth. But even that is better 
than doing nothing while I wait, and some one has to keep the 
doctors supplied with salicin and tannin, so, if I do, others needn’t 
bother.” 

He arose and poured more sap into the kettles as it boiled 
away and replenished the fire. He nibbled a twig when he began 
on the spice brush. As he sat on the piled wood, and bent over 
his work he was an attractive figure. His face shone with health 
and was bright with anticipation. While he split the tender bark 
to slip out the wood he spoke his thoughts slowly: “The five cents 
a pound I’ll get for you is even less, but I love the fragrance and 
taste. You don’t peel so easy as the willow, but I like to prepare 
you better, because you will make some miserable little sick child 
well or you may cool some one’s fevered blood. If ever she has a 
fever, I hope she will take medicine made from my bark, because 
it will be strong and pure. I’ve half a notion to set some one else 
gathering the stuff and tending the plants and spend my time in 


ies Ie S22: 


HARVESTING THE FOREST 27 


the laboratory compounding different combinations. I don’t see 
what bigger thing a man can do than to combine pure, clean, un- 
adulterated roots and barks into medicines that will cool fevers, 
stop chills, and purify bad blood. ‘The doctors may be all right, but 
what are they going to do if we men behind the prescription cases 
don’t supply them with unadulterated drugs. Answer me that, Mr. 
Sapsucker. Doc says P’ve done mighty well so far as I have gone. 
I can’t think of a thing on earth I'd rather do, and there’s money 
no end in it. I could grow too rich for comfort in short order. I 
wouldn’t be too wealthy to live the way I do for any considera- 
tion. I don’t know about her, though. She is lovely, and hand- 
some women usually want beautiful clothing, and a quantity of 
things that are expensive. I may need all I can get, for her. One 
never can tell.” 

He arose to stir the sap and pour more from the barrels to 
the kettles before he began on the tag alder he had gathered. 

“Tf it is all the same to you, Ill just keep on chewing spice 
brush while I work,” he muttered. “You are entirely too much 
of an astringent to suit my taste and you bring a cent less a pound. 
But you are thicker and dry heavier, and you grow in any quan- 
tity around the lake and on the marshy places, so Pll make the 
size of the bundle atone for the price. If I peel you while I wait 
on the sap I’m that much ahead. I can spread you on drying 
trays in a few seconds and there you are. Howl your head off, Bel, 
I don’t care what you have found. I wouldn’t shoot anything 
to-day, unless the cupboard was bare and I was starvation hun- 
gry. In that case I think a man comes first, and [ll kill a squirrel 
or quail in season, but blest if ?’'d butcher a lot or do it often. 
Vegetables and bread are better anyway. You peel easier than 
even the willow. What jolly whistles father used to make! 

“There was about twenty cents’ worth of spice, and [Il easy 
raise it to a dollar on this. [ll get a hundred gallons of syrup in 
the coming two weeks and it will bring one fifty if I boil and 
strain it carefully and can guarantee it contains no hickory bark 
and brown sugar. And it won’t! Straight for me or not at all. Pure 
is the word at Medicine Woods; syrup or drugs it’s the same thing. 
Between times I can fell every tree P’ll need for the new cabin, 


28 THE HARVESTER 


and average a dollar a day besides on spice, alder, and willow, 
and twice that for sassafras for the Onabasha markets; not to men- 
tion the quantities I can dry this year. Aside from spring tea, 
they seem to use it for everything. I never yet have had enough. It 
goes into half the tonics, anodyne, and stimulants; also soap and 
candy. I see where I grow rich in spite of myself, and also where 
my harvest is going to spoil before I can garner it, if I don’t step 
lively and double even more than I am now. Where the cabin is 
to come in—well it must come if everything else goes. 

“The roots can wait and I’ll dig them next year and have more 
and larger pieces. I won’t really lose anything, and if she should 
come before I am ready to start to find her, why then I'll have 
her home prepared. How long before you begin your house, old 
fire-fly?” he inquired of a flaming cardinal tilting on a twig. 

He arose to make the round of the sap buckets again, then re- 
sumed his work peeling bark; so the time passed. In the following 
ten days he collected and boiled enough sap to make more syrup 
than he had expected. His earliest spring store of medicinal twigs, 
that were peeled to dry in quills, were all collected and on the 
trays; he had digged several wagon loads of sassafras and felled 
all the logs of stout, slender oak he would require for his walls. 
Choice timber he had been curing for candlestick material he 
hauled to the saw-mills to have cut properly, for the thought of 
making tables and chairs had taken possession of him. He was 
sure he could build furniture that would appear quite as well as 
the mission pieces he admired on display in the store windows of 
the city. To him, chairs and tables made from trees that grew 
on land that had belonged for three generations to his ancestors, 
trees among which he had grown, played, and worked, trees that 
were so much his friends that he carefully explained the situation 
to them before using an ax or saw, trees that he had cut, cured, 
and fashioned into designs of his own, would make vastly more 
valuable furnishings in his home than anything that could be pur- 
chased in the city. 

As he drove back and forth he watched constantly for her. He 
was working so desperately, planning far ahead, doubling and 
trebling tasks, trying to do everything his profession demanded 


HARVESTING THE FOREST 29 


in season, and to prepare timber and make plans for the new 
cabin, as well as to start a pair of candlesticks of marvellous de- 
sign for her, that night was one long, unbroken sleep of the thor- 
oughly tired man, but day had become a delightful dream. 

He fed the chickens to produce eggs for her. He gathered barks 
and sluiced roots on the raft in the lake, for her. He grubbed the 
spice thicket before the door and moved it into the woods to make 
space for a lawn, for her. His eyes were wide open for every 
woven case and dangling cocoon of the big night moths that 
propagated around him, for her. Every night when he left the 
woods from one to a dozen cocoons, that he had detected with 
remarkable ease while the trees were bare, were stuck in his hat 
band. As he arranged them in a cool, dry place he talked to them. 

“Of course I know you are valuable and there are collectors 
who would pay well for you, but I think not. You are the prettiest 
thing God made that I ever saw, and those of you that home with 
me have no price on your wings. You are much safer here than 
among the crows and jays of the woods. I am gathering you to 
protect you, and to show to her. If I don’t find her by June, you 
may go free. All I want is the best pattern I can get from some 
of you for candlestick designs. Of everything in the whole world 
a candlestick should be made of wood. It should be carved by 
hand, and of all ornamentations on earth the moth that flies to 
the night light is the most appropriate. Owls are not so bad. ‘They 
are of the night, and they fly to light, too, but they are so old. 
Nobody I ever have known used a moth. They missed the best 
when they neglected them. I’ll make her sticks over an original 
pattern; Ill twine nightshade vines, with flowers and _ berries 
around them, and put a trailed luna on one, and what is the next 
prettiest for the other? Maybe she’ll come before I reach carving 
and tell me what she likes. That would surpass my taste or guess- 
ing a mile.” 

Every trip he made to the city he stopped at the library to ex- 
amine plans of buildings and furniture and to make notes. The 
oak he had hauled was being hewed into shape by a neighbour 
who knew how, and every wagon that carried a log to the city 
to be dressed at the mill brought back timber for side walls, joists, 


30 THE HARVESTER 


and rafters. Night after night he sat late poring over his plans for 
the new rooms, above all for her chamber. With poised pencil he 
wavered over where to put the closet and entrance to her bath. 
He figured on how wide to make her bed and where it should 
stand. He remembered her dressing table in placing windows and 
a space for a chest of drawers. In fact there was nothing the active 
mind of the Harvester did not busy itself with in those days that 
might make a woman a comfortable home. Every thought ema- 
nated from impulses evolved in his life in the woods, and each 
was executed with mighty tenderness. 

A killdeer sweeping the lake close two o’clock one morning 
awakened him. He had planned to close the sugar camp for the 
season that day, but when he heard the notes of the loved bird he 
wondered if that would not be a good time to stake out the foun- 
dations and begin digging. There was yet ice in the ground, but 
the hillside was rapidly thawing, and although the work would 
be easier later, so eager was the Harvester to have walls up and a 
roof over that he decided to commence. 

He went after an ax and a board that he split into pegs. Then 
he took a ball of twine, a measuring line, and began laying out 
his foundation, when the hard earth would scarcely hold the 
stakes he drove into it. That afternoon the first robin of the sea- 
son hailed him in passing. 

“Fello!” cried the Harvester. “You don’t mean to tell me that 
you have beaten the larks! You really have! Well since I see it, 
I must believe, but you are early. Gome around to the back door 
if crumbs or wheat will do or if you can make out on suet and 
meat bones! We are good and ready for you. Where is your mate? 
Don’t tell me you don’t know. One case of that kind at Medicine 
Woods is enough. Say you came ahead to see if it is too cold or 
to select a home and get ready for her. Say anything on earth 
except that you love her, and want her until your body is one 
quivering ache, and you don’t know where she is.” 


CHAPTER [LV 


A Commission for the South Wind 


Tue following morning the larks trailed ecstasy all over the val- 
ley, the cuckoos were calling in the thickets, a warm wind swept 
from the south and set swollen buds bursting, while the sun shone, 
causing the Harvester to rejoice. Betsy’s white coat was splashed 
with the mud of the valley road; the feet of Belshazzar left tracks 
over lumber piles; the Harvester removed his muck-covered shoes 
at the door and wore slippers inside. The skunk cabbage appeared 
around the edge of the forest, rank mullein and thistles lay over 
the fields in big circles of green, and even plants of delicate 
growth were thrusting their heads through mellowing earth and 
dead leaves, to reach light and air. 

Then the Harvester took his mattock and began to dig. His 
level best fell so far short of what he felt capable of doing and 
desired to accomplish that the following day he put two more 
men on the job. Then the earth did fly, and as soon as the re- 
quired space was excavated the walls were lined with stone and 
a smooth basement floor was made of cement. The night the new 
home stood, a skeleton of joists and rafters, gleaming whitely on 
the banks of Loon Lake, the Harvester went to the bridge cross- 
ing Singing Water and slowly came up the driveway to see how 
the work appeared. He caught his breath as he advanced. He had 
intended to stake out spacious rooms, but this, compared with 
the cabin, seemed like a hotel. 

“IT hope I haven’t made it so large it will be a burden,” he 


32 THE HARVESTER 


soliloquized. “It’s huge! But while I am at it I want to build big 
enough, and I think I have.” 

He stood on the driveway, his arms folded, looking at the struc- 
ture as he occasionally voiced his thoughts. 

“The next thing is to lay up the side walls and get the roof over. 
Must have plenty of help, for those logs are hewed to fourteen 
inches square and some of them are forty feet long. ‘That’s tim- 
ber! Grew with me, too. Personally acquainted with almost every 
tree of it. We will bed them in cement, use care with the roof, 
and if that doesn’t make a cool house in the summer, and a warm 
one in winter, I’ll be disappointed. We must have a wide porch, 
plenty of flowers, vines, ferns, and mosses, and when I finish 
everything and she sees it—perhaps it will please her.” 

A great horned owl swept down the hill, crossed the lake, and 
hooted from the forest of the opposite bank. The Harvester 
thought of his dream and turned. 

“Any women walking the water to-night? Come if you like,” 
he bantered, “I don’t mind in the least. In fact, ’'d rather enjoy 
it. ’'d be so happy if you would come now and tell me how this 
appears to you, for it’s all yours. ’d have enlarged the storeroom, 
dry-houses and laboratory for myself, but this cabin, never! The 
old one suited me as it was; but for you—I should have a better 
home.” 

The Harvester glanced from the shining skeleton to the bridge 
of gold and back again. 

‘Where are you to-night?” he questioned. “What are you 
doing? Can’t you give me a hint of where to search for you when 
this is ready? I don’t know but I am beginning wrong. My little 
brothers of the wood do differently. They announce their inten- 
tions the first thing, flaunt their attractions, and display their 
strength. They say aloud, for all the listening world to hear, what 
is in their hearts. They chip, chirp, and sing, warble, whistle, 
thrill, scream, and hoot it. They are strong on self-expression, and 
appreciative of their appearance. ‘They meet, court, mate, and 
then build their home together after a mutual plan. It’s a good 
way, too! Lots surer of getting things satisfactory.” 


A GOMMISSION FOR THE SOUTH WIND 83 


The Harvester sat on a lumber pile and gazed questioningly 
at the framework. 

“T wish I knew if I am going at things right,” he said. ‘“There 
are two sides to consider: if she is in a good home, and lovingly 
cared for, it would be proper to court her and get her promise, 
if I could—no, I’m blest if [ll be so modest—get her promise, 
as I said, and let her wait while I build the cabin. But if she 
should be poor, tired, and neglected, then I ought to have this 
ready when I find her, so I could pick her up and bring her to it, 
with no more ceremony than the birds.” 

He went to the work room and began polishing a table top. 
He had bought a chest of tools and was spending every spare 
minute on tables, chair seats, and legs. He had decided to make 
these first and carve candlesticks later when he had more time. 
Two hours he worked at the furniture; then went to bed. The fol- 
lowing morning he put eggs under several hens that wanted to set, 
trimmed his grape-vines, examined the precious ginseng beds, 
attended his stock, prepared breakfast for Belshazzar and himself, 
and was ready for work when the first carpenter arrived. Laying 
hewed logs went speedily; before the Harvester believed it pos- 
sible the big shingles he had ordered were being nailed on the 
roof. ‘Then came the plumber to arrange for the bathroom, while 
the furnace man placed the heating pipes. The Harvester had 
intended the cabin to be mostly the work of his own hands, 
but when he saw how rapidly skilled carpenters proceeded, he 
changed his mind and had them finish the living-room, his room, 
and the upstairs, and make over the dining-room and kitchen. 

Her room he worked on alone, with a little help if he did not 
know how to join the different parts. Everything was plain and 
simple, after plans of his own, but the Harvester laid floors and 
made window casings, seats, and doors of wood that the big fac- 
tories of Grand Rapids used in veneering their finest furniture. 
When one of his carpenters pointed out this to him, and sug- 
gested that he sell his lumber to McLean and use pine flooring 
from the mills the Harvester laughed at him. 

“T don’t say that I could afford to buy burl maple, walnut, and 
cherry for wood-work,” said the Harvester. “I could not, but 


34 THE HARVESTER 


since I have it, you can stake your life I won’t sell it and build 
my home of cheap, rapidly decaying wood. The best I have goes 
into this cabin and what remains will do to sell. I have an idea 
that when this is done it is going to appear first rate. Anyway, it 
will be solid enough to last a thousand years, and with every day 
of use natural wood grows more beautiful. When we make some 
tables, couches, and chairs from the same timber as the casings 
and the floors, I think it will be fine. I want money, but I don’t 
want it badly enough to part with the best of anything I have for 
it. Go carefully and neatly there; it will have to be changed if you 
don’t.” 

So the work progressed rapidly. When the carpenters had fin- 
ished the last stroke on the big veranda they remained a day more 
to make flower boxes, and a swinging couch; then the greedy 
Harvester kept the best man with him a week longer to help with 
the furniture. 

“Ain’t you going to say a word about her, Langston?”’ asked 
this man as they put a mirror-like surface on a curly maple dress- 
ing table top. 

“Her!” ejaculated the Harvester. “What do you mean?” 

“T haven’t seen you bathe anywhere except in the lake since 
I have been here,” said the carpenter. ““Do you want me to think 
that a porcelain tub, this big closet, and chest of drawers are for 
you?” 

A wave of crimson swept over the Harvester. 

“No, they are not for me,” he said simply. “‘I don’t want to be 
any more different from other men than I can help, although I 
know that life in the woods, the rigid training of my mother, and 
the reading of only the books that would aid in my work have 
made me individual in many of my thoughts and ways. I suppose 
most men would tell you anything you want to know. There is 
only one thing I can say: the best of my soul and brain, the best 
of my woods and storehouse, the best I can buy with money is not 
good enough for her. That’s all. For myself, I am getting ready 
to marry, of course. I think all normal men do and that it is a 
matter of plain common-sense that they should. Life with the right 
woman must be infinitely broader and better than alone. As soon 


A COMMISSION FOR THE SOUTH WIND 35 


as I get this house far enough along that I feel I can proceed by 
myself I am going to rush the marrying business as fast as I can, 
and let her finish the remainder to her liking.” 

“Well, this ought to please her.” 

“That’s because you find your own work good,” laughed the 
Harvester. 

“Not altogether!” The carpenter polished the board and stood 
it on end to examine the surface as he talked. “Not altogether! 
Nothing but good work would suit you. I was thinking of the 
little creek splashing down the hill to the lake; and that old log 
hewer said that in a few more days things here would be a blaze 
of colour until fall.” 

“Almost all the drug plants and bushes leaf beautifully and 
flower brilliantly,” explained the Harvester. “I studied the loca- 
tion suitable to each variety before I set the beds and planned 
how to grow plants for continuity of bloom, and as much har- 
mony of colour as possible. Of course a landscape gardener would 
tear up some of it, but seen as a whole it isn’t so bad. Did you 
ever notice that in the open, with God’s blue overhead and His 
green for a background, He can place purple and yellow, pink, 
magenta, red, and blue in masses or any combination you can 
mention and the brighter the colour the more you like it? You 
don’t seem to see or feel that any grouping clashes; you revel in 
each wonderful growth, and luxuriate in the brilliancy of the 
whole. Anyway, this suits me.” 

“I guess it will please her, too,” said the carpenter. “After all 
the pains you’ve taken, she is a good one if it doesn’t.” 

“Til always have the consolation of having done my best,” 
replied the Harvester. “One can’t do more! Whether she likes it 
or not depends greatly on the way she has been reared.” 

“You talk as if you didn’t know,” commented the carpenter. 

“You go on with this now,” said the Harvester hastily. ‘‘I must 
uncover some beds and dig my year’s supply of skunk cabbage, 
else folk with asthma and dropsy who depend on me will be short 
on relief. I ought to take my sweet flag, too, but I’m so hurried 
now I think J’ll leave it until fall; I do when I can, because the 
bloom is so pretty around the lake and the bees simply go wild 


36 THE HARVESTER 


over the pollen. Sometimes I think I can almost detect it in their 
honey. Do you know I’ve wondered often if the honey my bees 
make has medicinal properties and should be kept separate in 
different seasons. In early spring when the plants and bushes that 
furnish the roots and barks of most of the tonics are in bloom, and 
the bees gather the pollen, that honey should partake in a degree 
of the same properties and be good medicine. In the summer it 
should aid digestion, then in the fall cure rheumatism and blood 
disorders.” 

“Say you try it!’ urged the carpenter. “I want a lot of the fall 
kind. I’m always full of rheumatism by October. Exposure, no 
doubt.”’ 

“Overeating of too much rich food, you mean,” laughed the 
Harvester. “I’d like to see any man expose his body to more dif- 
fering extremes of weather than I do, yet I’m never sick. It’s be- 
cause I am my own cook so I live mostly on fruits, vegetables, 
bread, milk, and eggs, a few fish from the lake, a little game once 
in a great while or a chicken, and no hot drinks; plenty of fresh 
water, air, and continuous work out of doors. That’s the prescrip- 
tion! I’d be ashamed to have rheumatism at your age. There’s 
food in the cupboard if you grow hungry. I am going past one 
of the neighbours on my way to see about some work I want her 
to do.” 

The Harvester stopped for lunch, carried food to Belshazzar, 
then started straight across country, his mattock, with a bag rolled 
around the handle, on his shoulder. His feet sank in the damp 
earth at the foot of the hill. He laughed as he leaped across Sing- 
ing Water. 

“You noisy chatterbox!” cried the man. “The impetus of com- 
ing down the curves of the hill keeps you talking all the way 
across this muck bed to the lake. With small work I can make 
you a thing of beauty. A few bushes grubbed, deepening where 
you spread too much, and some more mallows along the banks 
will do the trick. I must attend to you soon.” 

“(Now what does the boy want?” laughed a white-haired old 
woman, as the Harvester entered her door. ““Mebby you think I 
don’t know what you’re up to! I even can hear the hammering 


A COMMISSION FOR THE SOUTH WIND 37 


and the voices of the men when the wind is in the south. Pve 
been wondering how soon you’d need me. Out with it!” 

“T want you to bring a woman and come over to spend a day 
with me. I would like you to go through mother’s bedding and 
have what needs it washed. All I want you to do is to superin- 
tend, and tell me now what I will want from town for your 
work.” 

“T put away all your mother’s bedding that you were not using, 
clean as a ribbon.” 

“But it has been packed in moth preventives ever since and out 
only four times a year to air, as you told me. It must smell musty 
and be yellow. I want it fresh and clean.” 

“So what I been hearing is true, David?” 

“Very true!” said the Harvester. 

“Whose girl is she, and when are you going to jine hands?” 

The Harvester lifted his clear eyes, then hesitated. 

“Doc Carey laid you in my arms when you was born, David. 
I tended you fore ever your ma did. All your life you’ve been my 
boy, and I love you same as my own blood; it won’t go farther 
if you say so. But I’m old and ’til better weather comes, house 
bound; so I get mighty lonely. I'd like to think about you and 
her, to plan for you, and love her as I always did you folks. Who 
is she, David? Do I know the family?” 

“No. She is a stranger to these parts,” said the unhappy Har- 
vester. 

“David, is she a nice girl ’at your ma would have liked?” 

“She’s the only girl in the world that I’d marry,” said the Har- 
vester promptly, glad of a question he could answer heartily. 
“Yes. She is gentle, very tender and—and affectionate,” he went 
on so rapidly that Granny Moreland could not say a word, “and 
as soon as I bring her home you shall come to spend a day and 
get acquainted. I know you will love her! [ll come in the morn- 
ing, then. I must hurry now. I am working double this spring. 
I’m off for the skunk cabbage bed to-day.” 

“You are working fit to kill, the neighbours say. Slavin’ like a 
horse all day, and half the night I see your lights burning.” 

“Do I appear killed?” laughingly inquired the Harvester. 


38 THE HARVESTER 


“You look peart as a struttin’ turkey gobbler,” said the old 
woman. “Go on with your work! Work don’t hurt a-body. Eat 
a-plenty, sleep all you ort, and you can’t work enough to hurt 
you.” 

“So the neighbours say I’m working now? New story, isn’t it? 
Usually I’m too lazy to make a living, if I remember.” 

“Only to those who don’t sense your proceedings, David. I 
always knowed how you grubbed and slaved an’ set over them 
fearful books 0’ yours.” 

“More interesting than the wildest fiction,” said the man. “I’m 
making some medicine for your rheumatism, Granny. It is not 
fully tested yet, but you get ready for it by cutting out all the salt 
you can. I haven’t time to explain this morning, but you remem- 
ber what I say, leave out the salt, and when Doc thinks it’s safe 
ll bring you something that will make a new woman of you.” 

He went swinging down the road, and Granny Moreland 
looked after him. 

“While he was talkin’,” she muttered, “I felt full of informa- 
tion as a flock o’ almanacs, but now since he’s gone, *pears to me 
I don’t know a thing more ’an I did to start on.” 

“Close call,” the Harvester was thinking. “Why the nation did 
I admit anything to her? People may talk as they please, so long 
as I don’t sanction it, but I have two or three times. That’s a fool 
trick. Suppose I can’t find her? Maybe she won’t look at me if I 
can. Then I’d have started something I couldn’t finish. And if 
anybody thinks I'll end this by taking any girl I can get, if I can't 
find Her, why they think wrongly. Only the girl of my golden 
dream or no woman at all for me. I’ve lived alone long enough 
to know how to do it in comfort. If I can’t find and win her I 
have no intention of starting a boarding house. 

“Td rather keep bachelor’s hall in Hell than go to board in 
Heaven!’ he quoted gaily. ““That’s my sentiment too. I haven’t 
begun to hunt her yet. Until I do, I might as well believe that she 
will walk across the bridge and take possession as soon as I have 
the last chair leg polished. She might! She came in the dream; 
to come actually couldn’t be any more real.” 


A COMMISSION FOR THE SOUTH WIND 39 


Across the lake, in the swampy woods, close where the screech 
owl sang and the girl of the golden dream walked in the moon- 
light the Harvester began operations. He unrolled the sack, went 
to one end of the bed and systematically started a swath across it, 
lifting every other plant by the roots. Flowering time was nearly 
past, but the bees knew where pollen ripened, so they hummed 
incessantly over and inside the queer cone-shaped growths with 
their hooked beaks. It almost appeared as if the sound made 
inside might be to give outsiders warning not to poach on occu- 
pied territory, for the Harvester noticed that no bee entered a 
pre-empted plant. 

With skilful hand each stroke brought up a root and he tossed 
it to one side. The plants were vastly peculiar things. First they 
seemed to be a curled leaf with no flower. In colour they shaded 
from yellow to almost black mahogany, and appeared as if they 
were a flower with no leaf. Closer examination proved there was 
a stout leaf with a heavy outside mid-rib, the tip of which curled 
over in a beak effect, that wrapped around a peculiar flower of 
very disagreeable odour. ‘The handling of these plants by the hun- 
dred so intensified this smell the Harvester shook his head. 

“JT presume you are mostly mine,” he said to the busy little 
workers around him. “If there is anything in my theory of honey 
having varying medicinal properties at different seasons, right 
now mine should be good for Granny’s rheumatism and for nerv- 
ous and dropsical people. I shouldn’t think honey flavoured with 
skunk cabbage would be fit to eat. But, of course, it isn’t all this. 
There is catkin pollen on the wind, hazel and sassafras are both 
in bloom now, and so are several of the earliest flowers of the 
woods. You can gather enough of them combined to temper the 
disagreeable odour into a racy sweetness, so all the shrub blooms 
are good tonics, too, and some of the earthy ones. I’m going to 
try giving some of you empty cases next spring and analyzing the 
honey to learn if it isn’t good medicine.” 

The Harvester straightened, leaning on the mattock to fill his 
lungs with fresh air and as he delightedly sniffed it he com- 
mented: “Nothing else has much of a chance since I’ve stirred 
up the cabbage bed. I can scent the catkins plainly, being so close, 


40 THE HARVESTER 


while as I came here I could detect the hazel and sassafras all 
right.” 

Above him a peculiar, raucous chattering for an instant hushed 
other wood voices. The Harvester looked up, laughing gaily. 

“So you’ve decided to announce it to your tribe at last, have 
you?” he inquired. “You are waking the sleepers in their dens 
to-day? Well, there’s nothing like waiting until you have a sure 
thing. The bluebirds broke the trail for the feathered folk the 
twenty-fourth of February. The sap oozed from the maples about 
the same time for the trees. The very first skunk cabbage was up 
quite a month ago to signal other plants to come on; now you are 
rousing the furred folk. I'll write this down in my records— 
‘When the earliest bluebird sings, when the sap wets the maples, 
when the skunk cabbage flowers, and the first striped squirrel 
barks, why then, it is spring!” 

He bent to his task. When he worked closer the water he no- 
ticed sweet-flag leaves waving two inches tall beneath the surface. 

“Great day!” he cried. ““There you are making signs, too! And 
right! Of course! Nature is always right. Just two inches high 
and it’s harvest for you. I can use a rake, and dried in the evapo- 
rator you bring me ten cents a pound; to the folks needing a tonic 
you are worth a small fortune. No doubt you cost that by the 
time you reach them; but I fear I can’t gather you just now. My 
head is a little preoccupied these days. What with the cabbage, 
and now you, and many of the bushes and trees making signs, 
with a new cabin to build and furnish, with a girl to find and win, 
I’m what you might call busy. I’ve covered my book shelf. I posi- 
tively don’t dare look Emerson or Maeterlinck in the face. One 
consolation! I’ve got the best of Thoreau in my head; if I read 
Stickeen a few times more I'll be able to recite that. There’s a 
man for you, not to mention the dog! Bel, where are you? Would 
you stick to me like that? I think you would. But you are a big, 
strong fellow. Stickeen was only such a mite of a dog. But what a 
man he followed! I feel as if I should put on high-heeled slippers 
and carry a fan and a lace handkerchief when I think of him. 
And yet, most men wouldn’t consider my job so easy!” 

The Harvester rapidly pitched the evil-smelling plants into big 


mGUUMMISSION FOR THE SOUTH WIND QI 


heaps while as he worked he imitated the sounds around him as 
closely as he could. ‘The song sparrow laughed at him and flew 
away in disgust when he tried its notes. ‘The jay took time to con- 
sider, but was not deceived. The nut-hatch ran head first down 
trees, larve hunting, but was never a mite deceived. The killdeer 
on invisible legs, circling the lake shore, replied instantly; so did 
the lark soaring above, also the dove of the elm thicket close 
beside. The glittering blackbirds flashing over every tree top an- 
swered the ““I°check, t’chee!”’ of the Harvester quite as readily as 
their mates. 

““Now I see the full meaning and beauty of that word 
sound!” quoted the Harvester. “ ‘I thank God for sound. It al- 
ways mounts and makes me mount!’ ” 

He breathed deeply, then stood listening, a superb figure of a 
man, his lean face glowing with emotion. 

“If she could see and hear this, she would come,” he said softly. 
“She would come and she would love it as I do. Any one who 
understands, and knows how to translate, cares for this above all 
else earth has to offer. ‘They who do not, fail to read as they run!” 

He shifted feet mired in swamp muck, and stood as if loath to 
bend again to his task. He lifted a weighted mattock to scrape the 
earth from it, sniffing it delightedly the while. A soft south wind 
freighted with aromatic odours swept his warm face. The Har- 
vester removed his hat and shook his head that the breeze might 
thread his thick hair. 

“T’ve a commission for you, South Wind,” he said whimsically. 
“Go find my Dream Girl. Go carry her this message from me. 
Freight your breath with spicy pollen, sun warmth, and flower 
nectar. Fill all her senses with delight, and then, close to her ear, 
whisper it softly: ‘Your lover is coming!’ Tell her that, O South 
Wind! Carry Araby to her nostrils, Heaven to her ears; then 
whisper and whisper it over and over until you arouse the passion 
of earth in her blood. Tell her what is rioting in my heart, and 
brain, and soul this morning. Repeat it until she must awake to 
its meaning: ‘Your lover is coming.’ ” 


CHAPTER V 


When the Harvester Made Good 


Tue sassafras and skunk cabbage were harvested. The last work- 
man was gone. There was not a sound at Medicine Woods save 
the babel of bird and animal notes and the never-ending accom- 
paniment of Singing Waters. The geese had gone over, some 
flocks pausing to rest and feed on Loon Lake, while ducks that 
homed there were busy among the reeds and rushes. In deep 
woods the struggle to maintain and reproduce life was at its 
height. The courting songs of gaily coloured birds were drowned 
by hawk screams and crow calls of defiance. 

Every night before he plunged into the lake and went to sleep 
the Harvester made out a list of the most pressing work that he 
would undertake on the coming day. By systematizing and plan- 
ning ahead he was able to accomplish an unbelievable amount. 
The earliest rush of spring drug gathering was over. He could be 
more deliberate in collecting the barks he wanted. Flowers that 
were to be gathered at bloom time and leaves were not yet ready. 
The heavy leaf coverings he had helped the winds to heap on his 
beds of lily of the valley, bloodroot, and sarsaparilla were re- 
moved carefully. 

Inside the cabin the Harvester cleaned the glass, swept the 
floors with a soft cloth pinned over the broom; then hung pale 
yellow blinds at the windows. Every spare minute he worked on 
making furniture, while with each piece he grew in experience 
and ventured on more difficult undertakings. He had progressed 


WHEN THE HARVESTER MADE GOOD 43 


so far that he now allowed himself an hour each day on the 
candlesticks for her. Every evening he opened her door and with 
soft cloths polished the furniture he had made. When her room 
was completed and the dining-room partially finished, the Har- 
vester stained the cabin and porch roofs the shade of the willow 
leaves, while on the logs and pillars he used oil that served to 
intensify the light yellow of the natural wood. With that much 
accomplished he felt better. If she came now, in a few hours he 
would be able to offer a comfortable room, enough conveniences 
to live until more could be provided, and of food there was always 
plenty. 

His daily programme was to feed and water his animals and 
poultry, prepare breakfast for himself and Belshazzar, then go to 
the woods, dry-house or storeroom to do the work most needful in 
his harvesting. In the afternoon he laboured over furniture, put- 
ting finishing touches on the new cabin. After supper he carved 
and found time to read again, as before his dream. 

He was so happy he whistled and sang at the beginning of his 
work; but later there came days when doubts crept in until all his 
will power was required to proceed steadily. As the cabin grew in 
better shape for occupancy each day, more pressing became the 
thought of how he was going to find and meet the girl of his 
dream. He would think of locking the cabin, leaving the drugs to 
grow undisturbed by collecting, hiring a neighbour to care for his 
living creatures, and starting a search over the world to find her. 
There came times when the impulse to go was so strong that only 
the desire to take a day more to decide where, kept him. Every time 
his mind was made up to start the following day came the counter 
thought, what if I should go and she should come in my absence? 
In the dream she came. That alone held him, even in the face of 
the fact that if he left home some one might know of and rifle the 
precious ginseng bed, carefully tended these seven years for the 
culmination the coming fall would bring. ‘That ginseng was worth 
many thousands and he had laboured over it, fighting worms and 
parasites, covering and uncovering it with the changing seasons: 
a siege of loving labour. 

Sometimes a few hours of misgiving tortured him, but as a rule 


44. THE HARVESTER 


he was cheerful and happy in-his preparations. Without intend- 
ing to do it he was gradually furnishing the cabin. Every few days 
saw a new picce finished in the workshop. Each trip to Onabasha 
ended in the purchase of some article he could see would har- 
monize with his colour plans for one of the rooms. He had filled 
the flower boxes for the veranda with delicate plants that were 
growing rapidly. 

Then he designed and began setting a wild-flower garden out- 
side her door and started climbing vines over the logs and 
porches, but whatever he planted he found in the woods or took 
from beds he cultivated. Many of the medicinal vines had leaves, 
flowers, twining tendrils, and berries or fruits of wonderful 
beauty. Every trip to the forest he brought back half a dozen 
vines, plants, or bushes to set for her. All of them either bore 
lovely flowers, berries, quaint seed pods, or nuts. Beside the drive 
and before the cabin he used especial care to plant a hedge of 
bittersweet vines, burning bush, and trees of mountain ash, so 
that the glory of their colour would enliven the winter when days 
might be gloomy. 

He planted wild yam under her windows that its queer rattles 
might amuse her, and hop trees where their castanets would play 
gay music with every passing wind of fall. He started a thicket on 
the opposite bank of Singing Water where it bubbled past her 
window, in which he placed in graduated rows every shrub and 
small tree bearing bright flower, berry, or fruit. Those remaining 
he used as a border for the driveway from the lake, so that from 
earliest spring her eyes would fall on a procession of colour be- 
ginning with catkins and papaw lilies, and running through 
alders, haws, wild crabs, dogwood, plums, and cherry intermin- 
gled with forest saplings and vines bearing scarlet berries in fall 
and winter. In the damp soil of the same character from which 
they were removed, in the shade and under the skilful hand of 
the Harvester, few of these knew they had been transplanted. 
When May brought the catbirds and orioles much of this growth 
was flowering quite as luxuriantly as the same species in the 
woods. 

The Harvester was in the storehouse packing boxes for ship- 





WHEN THE HARVESTER MADE GOOD 45 


ment. His room was so small and orders so numerous that he 
could not keep large quantities on hand. All crude stuff that he 
sent straight from the drying-house was fresh and brightly col- 
oured. His stock always was marked prime A-No. 1. On hearing 
a step behind him the Harvester turned. A boy held out a tele- 
gram. The man opened it to find an order for some stuff to be 
shipped that day to a large laboratory in Toledo. 

His hands deftly tied packages, then he hastily packed bottles 
and nailed boxes. He ran to harness Betsy and load. As he drove 
down the hill to the bridge he looked at his watch. 

“What are you good for at a pinch, Betsy?” he asked as he 
flecked the surprised mare’s flank with a switch. Belshazzar 
cocked his ears, gazing at the Harvester in astonishment. 

“That wasn’t enough to hurt her,’ explained the man. “She 
must speed up. This is important business. The amount involved 
is not so much, but I do love to make good. It’s a part of my 
religion, Bel. And my religion has so precious few parts that if I 
fail in the observance of any of them it makes a big hole in my 
performances. So we must deliver this stuff, not because it’s worth 
the exertion in dollars and cents, but because these men patronize 
us steadily and expect us to fill orders, even by telegraph. Hustle, 
Betsy !” 

The whip fell again, then Belshazzar entered indignant protest. 
) “It isn’t going to hurt her,” said the Harvester impatiently. 
“She may walk all the way back. She shall rest while I bill these 
boxes if she can be persuaded to get them to the express office on 
time. The trouble with Betsy is that she wants to meander along 
the road with a loaded wagon as her mother and grandmother 
before her wandered through the woods wearing a bell to attract 
the deer. Father used to say that her mother was the smartest bell 
mare that ever entered the forest. She’d not only find the deer, 
but she’d make friends with them and lead them straight as a 
bee-line to where he was hiding. Betsy, you must travel!” 

The Harvester drew the lines taut, then the whip fell smartly. 
The astonished Betsy snorted and pranced down the valley as fast 
as she could, but every step indicated that she felt outraged and 
abused. This was the loveliest day of the season. The sun was 


46 THE HARVESTER 


shining, the air was heavy with the perfume of flowering shrubs 
and trees, the orchards of the valley were white with bloom. 
Farmers were hurrying back and forth across fields, leaving up- 
turned lines of black, swampy mould behind them, while one pro- 
gressive individual rode a wheeled plow, drove three horses and 
enjoyed the shelter of a canopy. 

“Saints preserve us, Belshazzar!” cried the Harvester. “Do you 
see that? He is one of the men who makes a business of calling 
me shiftless. Now he thinks he is working. Working! For a full- 
grown man, did you ever see the equal? If I were going that far 
I'd wear a tucked shirt, panama hat, have a pianola attachment, 
and an automatic fan.” 

The Harvester laughed as he again touched Betsy and hurried 
to Onabasha. He scarcely saw the delights offered on either hand; 
where his eyes customarily took in every sight, and his ears were 
tuned for the faintest note of earth or tree top, to-day he saw 
only Betsy and listened for a whistle he dreaded to hear at the 
water tank. He climbed the embankment of the railway at a 
slower pace, but made up time going down hill to the city. 

“I am not getting a blame thing out of this,” he complained to 
Belshazzar. “There are riches to stagger any scientist wasting to- 
day, yet all I’ve got to show is one oriole. I did hear his first note 
and see his flash, so unless we can take time to make up for this 
on the home road we will have to christen it oriole day. It’s a 
perfumed golden day, too; I catch that in passing, but how I 
loathe hurrying. I don’t mind planning things and working stead- 
ily, but it’s not consistent with the dignity of a sane man to go 
rushing across country with as much appreciation of the delights 
offered right now as a chicken with its head off would have. We 
will loaf going back to pay for this! And won’t we invite our 
souls? We will stop and gather a big bouquet of crab apple blos- 
soms to fill the green pitcher for her. Maybe some of their won- 
derful perfume will linger in her room. When the petals fall we 
will scatter them in the drawers of her dresser, so they may distil 
a faint flower odour there. We could do that to all her furniture, 
but perhaps she doesn’t like perfume. She’ll be compelled to after 
she reaches Medicine Woods. Betsy, you must travel faster!” 


ES te ses Comern > 


WHEN THE HARVESTER MADE GOOD 47 


The Harvester stopped at the depot with a few minutes to 
spare. He threw the hitching strap to Belshazzar, then ran into 
the express office with an armload of boxes. 

“Bill them!” he cried. “It’s a rush order. I want it on the next 
express. Almost due I think. I'll help you. We can book them 
afterward.” 

The expressman ran to bring a truck, then they hastily weighed 
and piled on boxes. When the last one was loaded from the 
wagon, a heap more lying in the office were added, pitched on 
indiscriminately as the train pulled under the sheds of the Union 
Station. 

“T’ll push,” cried the Harvester, ‘‘and help you get them on.” 

Hurrying as fast as he could the expressman drew the heavy 
truck through the iron gates and started toward the train slowing 
to a stop, while the Harvester pushed. As they came down the 
platform they passed the dining and sleeping cars of the long 
train. They were several times delayed by descending passengers. 
Opposite the day coach the expressman narrowly missed running 
into several women leading small children and stopped abruptly. 
A toppling box threatened the head of the Harvester. He peered 
around the truck and saw they must wait a few seconds. He put 
in the time watching the people. A gray-haired old man, travel- 
ling in a silk hat, wavered on the top step then went his way. A 
fat woman loaded with bundles puffed as she clung trembling a 
second in fear she would miss the step she could not see. A tall, 
slender girl with a face coldly white came next. From the broken 
shoe she advanced, the bewildered fright of big, dark eyes glanc- 
ing helplessly, the Harvester saw that she was poor, alone, ill, and 
in trouble. Pityingly he turned to watch her. As he gauged her 
height, saw her figure, and a dark coronet of hair came into view, 
a ghastly pallor swept his face. 

“Merciful God!” he breathed, “that’s my Dream Girl!” 

The truck started with a jerk. The toppling box fell, struck a 
passing boy, and knocked him down. The mother screamed so 
the Harvester sprang to pick up the child and see that he was not 
dangerously hurt. Then he ran after the truck, pitched on the box, 
and whirling sped beside the train toward the gates of exit. There 


48 THE HARVESTER 


was the usual crush, but he could see the tall figure passing up 
the steps to the depot. He tried to force his way and was called a 
brute by a crowded woman. He ran down the platform to the 
gates he had entered with the truck. They were automatic and 
had locked. ‘Then he became a primal creature being cheated of 
a lawful mate so he climbed the high iron fence and ran to the 
waiting-room. He gave it a glance, not forgetting the women’s 
apartment and the side entrance. Then he hurried to the front 
exit. Up the street leading from the city there were few people. 
He could see no sign of the slight, white-faced girl. He crossed the 
sidewalk, ran down the gutter for a block and breathlessly waited 
for the passing crowd on the corner. She was not among it. He 
tried one more square. Still he could not see her. Then he ran 
back to the depot. He thought surely he must have missed her. 
He again searched the woman’s and general waiting-room; then 
he thought of the conductor. From him it could be learned where 
she entered the car. He ran for the station, bolted the gate while 
the official called to him, reaching the track in time to see the 
train pull out within a few yards of him. 

“You blooming idiot!” cried the angry expressman as the Har- 
vester ran against him, “where did you go? Why didn’t you help 
me? Have you lost your senses?” 

“Worse!” groaned the Harvester. “Worse! I’ve lost what I prize 
most on earth. How could I reach the conductor of that train?” 

“Telegraph him at the next station. You can have an answer 
in half an hour.” 

The Harvester ran to the office, and with shaking hand wrote 
this message: 

“Where did a tall girl with big black eyes and wearing a gray 
dress take your train? Important.” 

Then he went out to minutely search the depot and streets. He 
hired an automobile to drive him over the business part of Ona- 
basha for three-quarters of an hour. Up one street and down an- 
other he went slowly where there were crowds, faster as he could, 
but never a sight of her. Then he returned to the depot and found 
his message. It read: “Transferred to me at Fort Wayne from 
Chicago.” 


WHEN THE HARVESTER MADE GOOD 49g 


“Chicago baggage!” he cried, hurrying to the check room. He 
had lost almost an hour. When he reached the room he found the 
officials busy and unwilling to be interrupted. Finally he learned 
there had been half a dozen trunks from Chicago. All were taken 
save two, and one glance at them told the Harvester that they 
did not belong to the girl in gray. The others had been claimed 
by men having checks for them. If she had been there, the offi- 
cials had not noticed a tall girl having a white face and dark eyes. 
When he could think of no further effort to make he drove to the 
hospital. 

Doctor Carey was not in his office. The Harvester sat in the 
revolving chair before the desk and gripped his head between his 
hands as he tried to think. He could not remember anything more 
he could have done, but since what he had done only ended in 
failure, he was reproaching himself wildly that he had taken his 
eyes from the Girl an instant after recognizing her. Yet it was in 
his blood to be decent; he could not have run away leaving a 
frightened woman with a hurt child. Trusting to his fleet feet and 
strength he had taken time to replace the box also; then he had 
met the crowd and delay. For the instant it appeared to him as if 
he had done all a man could, yet he had not found her. If he 
allowed her to return to Chicago, probably he never would. He 
leaned his head on his hands, groaning in discouragement. 

Doctor Carey whirled the chair so that it faced him before the 
Harvester realized that he was not alone. 

“What’s the trouble, David?” he asked tersely. 

The Harvester lifted a strained face. “I want help,” he said. 

“Well, you will get it! What do you want?” 

That seemed simplicity itself to the doctor. When it came to 
putting the case into words, it was not easy for the Harvester. 

“Go on!” said the doctor. 

“You'll think me a fool.” 

“No doubt!” he said soothingly. ‘““No doubt, David! Probably 
you are; so why shouldn’t I think so. But remember this, when 
we make the biggest fools of ourselves that is precisely the time 
when we need friends, and when they stick to us the tightest, if 
they are worth while. I’ve been waiting since latter February for 


5O THE HARVESTER 


you to tell me. We can fix it, of course; there’s always a way. 
Go on!” 

‘Well I wasn’t fooling about the dream and the vision I told 
you of then, Doc. I did have a dream—and it was a dream of 
love. I did see a vision—and it was a beautiful woman.” 

“I hope you are not nursing that experience as something ex- 
clusive and peculiar to you,’ said the doctor. “There is not a 
normal, sane man living who has not dreamed of love and the 
most exquisite woman who came from the clouds or anywhere 
and was gracious to him. That’s a part of a man’s experience in 
this world, and it happens to most of us, not once, but repeatedly. 
It’s a case where the wish fathers the dream.” 

“Well, it hasn’t happened to me ‘on repeated occasions’ but it 
did one night, so by dawn I was converted. How can a dream be 
so real, Doc? How could I see as clearly as I ever saw in the day- 
time in my most alert moment, hear every step and garment 
rustle, scent the perfume of hair, and feel warm breath strike my 
face? I don’t understand it!” 

“Neither does anyone else! All you need say is that your dream 
was real as life. Go on!” 

“I built a new cabin and overturned the place. I’ve been mak- 
ing furniture I thought a woman would like, and carrying things 
from town ever since.” 

“Gee! It was reality to you, lad!” 

‘Nothing ever more so,”’ said the Harvester. 

‘And of course, you have been looking for her?” 

“And this morning I saw her!” 

“David!” 

“Not the ghost of a chance for a mistake. Her height, her eyes, 
her hair, her walk, her face; only something terrible has hap- 
pened since she came to me. It was the same girl, but she is ill 
and in trouble now.” 

“Where is she?” 

“Do you suppose I’d be here if I knew?” 

“David, are you dreaming in daytime?” 

“She left the Chicago train this morning while I was helping 
Daniels load a big truck of express matter. Some of it was mine, 


ee 

WHEN THE HARVESTER MADE GOOD OBI 
and it was important. At the wrong instant a box fell, knocking 
down a child, so I got in a jam 

“As it was you, of course you stopped to pick up the child and 
do everything decent for other folks, before you thought of your- 
self, so you lost her. You needn’t tell me anything more. David, 
if I find her, and prove to you that she has been married ten years 
and has an interesting family, will you thank me?” 

“Can’t be done!” said the Harvester calmly. “She has been 
married only since she gave herself to me in February. She is not 
a mother. You needn’t bank on that.” 

“You are mighty sure!” 

“Why not? I told you the dream was real, now that I have seen 
her, and she is in this very town, why shouldn’t I be sure?” 

“What have you done?” 

The Harvester told him. 

“What are you going to do next?” 

“Talk it over with you and decide.” 

The doctor laughed. 

“Here are a few things that occur to me without time for 
thought. Talk to the ticket agents, and leave her description with 
them. Make it worth their while to be on the lookout, and if she 
goes anywhere to find out all they can. They could make an ex- 
cuse of putting her address on her ticket envelope, and get it that 
way. See the baggagemen. Post the day police on Main Street. 
There is no chance for her to escape you. A full-grown woman 
doesn’t vanish. How did she act when she left the car? Did she 
appear familiar?” 

“No. She was a stranger. For an instant she looked around as 
if she expected some one, then she followed the crowd. There 
must have been an automobile waiting or she took a street car. 
Something whirled her out of sight in a few seconds.” 

“Then we will get her in range again. Now for the most 
minute description you can give.” 

The Harvester hesitated. He did not care to describe the Dream 
Girl to any one, much less the living, suffering face and poorly 
clad form of the reality. 

“Cut out your scruples,” laughed the doctor. “You have asked 





52 THE HARVESTER 


me to help you; how can I if I don’t know what kind of a woman 
to look for?” 

“Very tall and slender,” said the Harvester. “Almost as tall as 
I am.” 

“Unusually tall you think?” 

“T know!” 

‘“That’s a good point for identification. How about her com- 
plexion, hair, and eyes?” 

“Very large, dark eyes, and a great mass of black hair.” 

The doctor roared. 

“The eyes may help,” he said. ““All women have masses of hair 
these days. I hope fs 

“Her hair is fast to her head,” said the Harvester indignantly. 
“T saw it at close range, and I know. It went around like a 
crown.” 

The doctor choked down a laugh. He wanted to say that every 
woman’s hair was like a crown at present, but there were things 
no man ventured with David Langston; those who knew him 
best, least of any. So he suggested: “And her colouring?” 

‘She was white and rosy, a lovely thing in the dream,” said the 
Harvester, “but something dreadful has happened. That’s all 
wiped out now. She was very pale when she left the car.” 

“Car sick, maybe.” 

“Soul sick!’ was the grim reply. 

Then Doctor Carey appeared so disturbed the Harvester no- 
ticed it. 

“You needn’t think I’d be here prating about her if I were not 
forced. If she had been rosy and well as she was in the dream, 
I’d have made my hunt alone and found her, too. But when I 
saw she was sick and in trouble, it took all the courage out of me, 
so I broke for help. She must be found at once. When she is you 
are probably the first man I’ll want. I am going to put up a stiff 
search myself. If I find her I'll send or get her to you if I can, 
Put her in the best ward you have and anything money will 
do——” 

The face of the doctor was growing troubled. 

‘Day coach or Pullman?” he asked. 





| 
WHEN THE HARVESTER MADE GOOD 53 


“Day.” 

“How was she dressed?” 

“Small black hat, very plain. Gray jacket and skirt, neat as a 
flower.” 

“What you'd call expensively dressed ?”’ 

The Harvester hesitated. 

“What Id call carefully dressed, but—but poverty poor, if you 
will have it, Doc.” 

Doctor Carey’s lips closed, then opened in sudden resolution. 

“David, I don’t like it,” he said tersely. ‘ 

The Harvester met his eye, then purposely misunderstood him. 

“Neither do I!” he exclaimed. “I hate it! There is something 
wrong with the whole world when a woman having a face full of 
purity, intellect, and refinement of extreme type glances around 
her like a hunted thing; when her appearance seems to indicate 
that she has starved her body to clothe it. I know what is in your 
mind, Doc, but if I were you I wouldn’t put it into words, and I 
wouldn’t even think it. Has it been your experience in this world 
that women not fit to know skimp their bodies to cover them? 
Does a girl of light character and little brain have the hardihood 
to advance a foot covered with a broken shoe? If I could tell you 
that she rode in a Pullman, and wore exquisite clothing, you 
would be doing something. The other side of the picture shocks 
you. Let me tell you this: no other woman I ever saw anywhere 
on God’s footstool had a face of more delicate refinement, eyes of 
purer intelligence. I am of the woods. While they don’t teach me 
how to shine in society, they do instil always and forever the fine- 
ness of nature and her ways. I have her lessons so well learned 
they help me more than anything else to discern the qualities of 
human nature. If you are my friend, and have any faith at all in 
my common sense, get up and do something!” 

The doctor arose promptly. 

“David, I’m an ass,” he said. “Unusually lop-eared, and blind 
in the bargain. But before I ask you to forgive me, I want you to 
remember two things: first, she did not visit me in my dreams; 
and, second, I did not see her in reality. I had nothing to judge 
from except what you said: you seemed reluctant to tell me, and 


54 THE HARVESTER 


what you did say was—was—disturbing to a friend of yours. I 
have not the slightest doubt if I had seen her I would agree with 
you. We seldom disagree, David. Now, will you forgive me?” 

The Harvester suddenly faced a window. When at last he 
turned, “The offence lies with me,” he said. “I was hasty. Are 
you going to help me?” 

‘With all my heart! Go home and work until your head clears, 
then come back in the morning. She did not come from Chicago 
for a day. You’ve done all I know to do at present.” 

“Thank you,” said the Harvester. 

He went to Betsy and Belshazzar, slowly driving up and down 
the streets until Betsy protested and calmly turned homeward. 
The Harvester smiled ruefully as he allowed her to proceed. 


‘‘Go slow and take it easy,” he said as they reached the country. | 


“IT want to think.” 

Betsy stopped at the barn, the white doves took wing, and 
Ajax screamed shrilly before the Harvester aroused in the slightest 
to anything around him. Then he looked at Belshazzar and said 
emphatically: “Now, partner, don’t ever again interfere when I 


am complying with the observances of my religion. Just look what 


I’d have missed if I hadn’t made good with that order!” 


CHAPTER VI 


To Labour and to Wait 


“WE HAVE reached the ‘beginning of the end,’ Ajax!” said the 
Harvester, when the peacock ceased screaming to search for food 
from his hand. “We have seen the Girl. Now we must locate her 
and convince her that Medicine Woods is her happy home. I feel 
quite equal to the latter proposition, Ajax, but how the nation to 
find her sticks me. I can’t make a search so open that she will 
know and resent it. She must have all the consideration ever paid 
the most refined woman, but she has got to be found also, and 
that speedily. When I remember that look on her face, as if hor- 
rors were snatching at her skirts, it takes the grit out of me. I feel 
weak as a sapling. And she needs all my strength. I’ve simply got 
to brace up. I'll work a while, then perhaps I can think.” 

So the Harvester began the evening routine. He thought he did 
not want anything to eat, but when he opened the cupboard and 
smelled the food he learned that he was a hungry man so he 
cooked and ate a good supper. He put away everything carefully, 
for even the kitchen was dainty and fresh and he wanted to keep 
it so for her. When he finished he took a key from his pocket to 
unlock her door. Every day he had been going there to improve 
upon his work for her. He loved the room, the outlook from its 
windows; he was very proud of the furniture he had made. There 
was no paper-thin covering on her chairs, bed, and dressing table. 
The tops, seats, and posts were solid wood, worth hundreds of 
dollars for veneer. 


56 THE HARVESTER 


To-night he folded his arms, standing on the sill hesitating. 
While she was a dream, he had loved to linger in her room. Now 
that she was reality, he paused. In one golden May day the place 
had become sacred. Since he had seen the Girl the room was so 
hers that he was hesitating about entering because of this fact. It 
was as if the tall, slender form stood before the chest of drawers 
or sat at the dressing table and he did not dare enter unless he 
were welcome. Softly he closed the door, turning away. He wan- 
dered to the dry-house to see the bark and roots on the trays, but 
the air stifled him so he hurried out. 

He espied a bundle of osier-bound, moss-covered ferns that he 
had found in the woods. He brought the shovel to transplant 
them; but the work worried him, so he hurried through with it. 
‘Then in looking for something else to do he saw an ax. He caught 
it up and with lusty strokes began swinging it. When he had 
chopped wood until he was very tired he went to bed. Sleep came 
to the strong, young frame. He awoke in the morning refreshed 
and hopeful. 

He wondered why he had bothered Doctor Carey. The Har- 
vester felt able that morning to find his Dream Girl without as- 
sistance before the day was over. It was merely a matter of going 
to the city and locating a woman. Yesterday, it had been a ques- 
tion of whether she really existed. To-day, he knew. Yesterday, it 
had meant a search possibly as wide as earth to find her. To-day, 
it was narrowed to only one location so small, compared with 
Chicago, that the Harvester felt he could sift its population with 
his fingers, separating her from others at his first attempt. If she 
were visiting there probably she would be on the streets to-day. 

When he remembered her face he doubted it. He decided to 
spend part of the time on the business streets, the remainder in the 
residence portions of the city. Because it was uncertain when he 
would return, everything was fed a double portion, while Betsy 
was left at a livery stable with instructions to care for her until he 
came. He did not know where the search would lead him. For 
several hours he slowly walked the business district and then 
ranged farther, but not a sight of her. He never had known that 
Onabasha was so large. On its crowded streets he did not feel that 





TO LABOUR AND TO WAIT 57 


he could sift the population through his fingers, nor could he open 
doors and search houses without an excuse. He went to the 
hospital. 

“TI expected you early this morning,” was the greeting of Doc- 
tor Carey. ““Where have you been and what have you done?” 

“Nothing,” said the Harvester. “I was so sure she would be on 
the streets I watched, but I didn’t see her.” 

“We will go to the depot,” said the doctor. “The first thing is 
to keep her from leaving town.” 

They arranged with the ticket agents, expressmen, telegraphers, 
and as they left, the Harvester stopped and tipped the train caller, 
offering further reward worth while if he would find the Girl. 

“Now we will go to the police station,” said the doctor. “Ill 
see the chief and have him issue a general order to his men to 
watch for her, but if I were you Id select half a dozen im the 
downtown district, giving them a little tip with a big promise!” 

“Good Lord! How I hate this,’ groaned the Harvester. 

“Want to find her by yourself?” questioned his friend. 

“Yes,” said the Harvester, “I do! And I would, if it hadn’t 
been for her ghastly face. That drives me to resort to any meas- 
ures. The probabilities are that she is lying sick somewhere; if 
her comfort depends on the purse that dressed her, she will suffer. 
Doc, do you know how awful this is?” 

“T know that you’ve a great imagination. If the woods make all 
men as sensitive as you are, those who have business to transact 
should stay out of them. Take a common-sense view. Look at this 
as I do. If she were strong enough to travel in a day coach from 
Chicago, she can’t be so very ill to-day. Leaving life by the inch 
isn’t that easy. She will be alive this time next year, whether you 
find her or not. The chances are that her stress was mental any- 
way, and trouble almost never overcomes any one.” 

“You, a doctor and say that!” 

“Oh, I mean instantaneously—in a day! Of course if it grinds 
away for years! But youth doesn’t allow it to do that. It throws 
it off, and grows hopeful and happy again. She won’t die; put 
that out of your mind. If I were you I would go home now and 
go straight on with my work, trusting to the machinery you have 


58 THE HARVESTER 


set in motion. I know most of the men with whom we have talked. 
They will locate her in a week or less. It’s their business. It isn’t 
yours. It’s your job to be ready for her, when they find her. Try 
to realize that there are now a dozen men on hunt for her, and 
trust them. Go back to work. I will come full speed in the motor 
when the first man sights her. That should satisfy you. I’ve told all 
of them to call me at the hospital. I will tell my assistant what to 
do in case a call comes while I am away. Straighten your face! 
Go back to Medicine Woods and harvest your crops. Before you 
know it she will be located. ‘Then you can put on your Sunday 
clothes, show yourself, and see if you can make her take notice.” 

“Tdiot!”? exclaimed the Harvester, but he started home. When 
he arrived he attended to his work, then sat down to think. 

“Doc is right,” was his ultimate conclusion. “She can’t leave 
the city, she can’t move around in it, she can’t go anywhere, with- 
out being seen. There’s one more point: I must tell Carey to post 
all the doctors to report if they have such a call. That’s all I can 
think of. I'll go to-night, then I’ll look over the ginseng for para- 
sites, and to-morrow I'll dive into the late spring growth and 
work until I haven’t time to think. I’ve let cranesbill go a week 
too long now, and it can’t be dispensed with.” 

So the following morning, when the Harvester had completed 
his work at the barn and breakfasted, he took a mattock, and a 
big hempen bag, and followed the path to the top of the hill. 
Where it ran along the lake bank he descended on the other side 
to several acres of cleared land; here he raised corn for his stock, 
potatoes, and coarser garden truck, for which there was not space 
in the smaller enclosure close the cabin. Around the edges of 
these fields, and where one of them sloped toward the lake, he 
began grubbing a variety of grass having tall stems already over 
a foot in height at half growth. From each stem waved four or 
five leaves of six or eight inches length, and the top showed 
forming clusters of tiny spikelets. 

“T am none too early for you,” he muttered to himself as he 
ran the mattock through the rich earth, lifting the long, tough, 
jointed root stalks of pale yellow, from every section of which 
broke sprays of fine rootlets. “None too early for you, and as you 





) 
) 


TO LABOUR AND TO WAIT 59 


are worth only seven cents a pound, you couldn’t be considered 
a ‘get-rich-quick’ expedient, so Ill only stop long enough with 
you to gather what I think my customers will order, and amass 
a fortune a little later picking mullein flowers at seventy-five cents 
a pound. What a crop I’ve got coming!” 

The Harvester glanced ahead, where in the cleared soil of the 
bank grew large plants with leaves like yellow-green felt and tall 
bloom stems arising. Close them flourished other species requiring 
dry sandy soil, that gradually changed as it approached the water 
until it became covered with rank abundance of short, wiry grass, 
half the blades of which appeared red. Numerous everywhere he 
could see the grayish-white leaves of Parnassus grass. As the sea- 
son advanced it would lift heart-shaped velvet higher, and before 
fall the stretch of emerald would be starred with white-faced, 
green-striped flowers. 

“Not a prettier sight on earth,’ commented the Harvester, 
“than just swale wire grass in September making a fine, thick 
background to set off those delicate starry flowers on their slender 
stems. I must remember to bring her to see that.” 

His eyes followed the growth to the water. As the grass drew 
closer moisture it changed to the rank, sweet, swamp variety, then 
came bulrushes, cat-tails, water smartweed, docks, and in the 
water, blueflag lifted folded buds; at its feet arose yellow lily 
leaves and farther out spread the white. As the light struck the 
surface the Harvester imagined he could see the little green buds 
several inches below. Above all swayed wild rice he had planted 
for the birds. The red wings swayed on the willows and tilted on 
every stem that would bear their weight, singing their melodious 
half-chanted notes: “O-ka-lee!” 

Beneath them the ducks gobbled, splashed, and chattered; grebe 
and coot voices could be distinguished; king rails at times flashed 
into sight then out again; marsh wrens scolded and chattered; 
occasionally a kingfisher darted around the lake shore, rolling his 
rattling cry as he flashed his azure coat and gleaming white collar. 
On a hollow tree in the woods a yellow hammer proved why he 
was named, because he carpentered industriously to enlarge the 
entrance to the home he was excavating in a dead tree. Sailing 


60 THE HARVESTER 


over the lake and above the woods in grace scarcely surpassed by 
any, a lonesome turkey buzzard awaited his mate’s decision as to 
which hollow log was most suitable for their home. 

The Harvester stuffed the grass roots in the bag until it would 
hold no more and stood erect to wipe his face, for the sun was 
growing warm. As he drew his handkerchief across his brow, the 
south wind struck him with enough intensity to attract attention. 
Instantly the Harvester removed his hat, rolled it up, and put it 
into his pocket. He stood an instant delighting in the wind, then 
spoke: “Allow me to express my most fervent thanks for your 
kindness,” he said. “I thought probably you would take that mes- 
sage, since it couldn’t mean much to you, and it meant all the 
world to me. I thought you would carry it, but, I confess, I scarcely 
expected the answer so soon. The only thing that could make me 
more grateful to you would be to know exactly where she is; but 
you must understand that it’s like a peep into Heaven to have her 
existence narrowed to one place. I’m bound to be able to say 
inside a few days, she lives at number—I don’t know yet, on street 
—TI’ll find out soon, in the closest city, Onabasha. And I know why 
you brought her, South Wind. If ever a girl’s cheeks need fanning 
with your breezes, and painting with sun kisses, I wouldn’t mind, 
since this is strictly private, adding a few of mine; if ever any one 
needed flowers, birds, fresh air, water, and rest! Good Lord, 
South Wind, did you ever reach her before you carried that mes- 
sage? I think not! But Onabasha isn’t so large. You and the sun 
should get your innings there. I do hope she is not trying to work! 
I can attend to that; and so there will be more time when she is 
found, I’d better hustle now.” 

As he passed down the road to the cabin his face was a study 
of conflicting emotions; his eyes had a faraway appearance of 
deep thought. Every tree of his stretch of forest was rustling fresh 
leaves to shelter him; dogwood, wild crab, and hawthorn offered 
their flowers; earth held up her tribute in painted trillium faces, 
spring beauties, and violets, blue, white, and yellow. Mosses, ferns, 
and lichens decorated the path; all the birds greeted him in 
friendship, singing their purest melodies. The sky was blue, the 
sun bright, the air perfumed for him; Belshazzar, always true to 





TO LABOUR AND TO WAIT 61 


his name, protected every footstep; Ajax, the shimmering green 
and gold wonder, came up the hill to meet him; the white doves 
circled above his head. Stumbling half blindly, the Harvester 
passed unheeding among them, and went into the cabin. When 
he came out he stood a long time in deep thought, but at last he 
returned to the woods. 

“Perhaps they will have found her before night,” he said. “Vil 
harvest the cranesbill yet, because it’s growing late for it, and 
then I’ll see how they are coming on. Maybe they’d know her if 
they met her, and maybe they wouldn’t. She may wear different 
clothing, and freshen up after her trip. She might have been car 
sick, as Doc suggested, and appear very different when she feels 
better.” 

He skirted the woods around the northeast end, stopping at a 
big bed of exquisite growth. Tall, wiry stems sprang upward 
almost two feet in height; leaves six inches across were cut in 
ragged lobes nearly to the base, while here and there, enough 
to colour the entire bed, a delicate rose or sometimes a violet 
purple, the first flowers were unfolding. The Harvester lifted a 
root and tasted it. 

“No doubt about you being astringent,” he muttered. “You 
have enough tannin in you to pucker a mushroom. By the way, 
those big, corn-cobby fellows should spring up with the next 
warm rain. The hotels and restaurants always pay high prices. I 
must gather a few bushels.” 

He looked over the bed of beautiful wild alum and hesitated. 
“T vow I hate to touch you,” he said. “You are a picture right 
now, and in a week you will be a miracle. It seems a shame to 
tear up a plant for its roots, just at flowering time, and I can’t 
avoid breaking down half I don’t take, getting the ones I do. I 
wish you were not so pretty! You are one of the colours I love 
most. You remind me of red-bud, blazing star, and all those ex- 
quisite magenta shades that poets, painters, and the Almighty 

who made them, love so much they hesitate about using them 
~ lavishly. You are so delicate and graceful and so modest. I wish 
she could see you! I got to stop this or I won’t be able to lift a 


62 THE HARVESTER 


root. I never would if the ten cents a pound I’ll get out of it were 
the only consideration.” 

The Harvester gripped the mattock and advanced to the bed. 
“What I must be thinking is that you are indispensable to the 
sick folks. ‘The steady demand for you proves your value, and of 
course, humanity comes first, after all. If I remain in the woods 
alone much longer I'll reach the place where I’m not so sure that 
it does. Seems as if animals, birds, flowers, trees, and insects as 
well, have their right to life also. But it’s my job to remember the 
sick folks! If I thought the Girl would get some of it now, I 
could overturn the bed with a stout heart. If any one ever needed 
a tonic, I think she does. Maybe some of this will reach her. 
If so, I hope it will make her cheeks the lovely pink of the bloom. 
Oh Lord! If only she hadn’t appeared so sick and frightened! 
What is there in all this world of sunshine to make a girl glance 
around her like that? I wish I knew! Perhaps they will have 
found her by night.” 

The Harvester began work on the bed, but he knelt and among 
the damp leaves from the spongy black earth he lifted the roots 
with his fingers, carefully straightening and pressing down the 
plants he did not take. This required more time than usual, but 
his heart was so sore, he could not be rough with anything, most 
of all a flower. So he harvested the wild alum by hand, heaping 
large stacks of roots around the edges of the bed. Often he paused 
as he worked to stare through the forest as if he hoped perhaps 
she would realize his longing for her, and come to him in the 
wood as she had across the water. Over and over he repeated, 
“Perhaps they will find her by night!” and that so intensified the 
meaning that once he said it aloud. His face clouded, growing 
dark. 

“Dealish nice business!” he said. “I am here in the woods dig- 
ging flower roots, while a gang of men in the city are searching 
for the girl I love. If ever a job seemed peculiarly a man’s own, 
it appears this would be. What business has any other man spying 
after my woman? Why am I not down there doing my own work, 
as I always have done it? Who’s more likely to find her than I 
am? It seems as if there would be an instinct that would lead me 


TO LABOUR AND TO WAIT 63 


straight to her, if I’d go. And you can wager I’ll go fast enough.” 

The Harvester appeared as if he would start that instant, but 
with lips closely shut he finally forced himself to go on with his 
work. When he had rifled the bed, uprooting all he cared to take 
during one season, he carried the roots to the lake shore below 
the curing house, spreading them on a platform he had built. He 
stepped into his boat and began dashing pails of water over them, 
then using a brush. As he worked he washed away the woody 
scars of last year’s growth, also the tiny buds appearing for the 
coming season. 

Belshazzar sat on the opposite bank to watch the operation; 
Ajax came down, and flying to a dead stump, erected and slowly 
waved his train to attract the soberfaced man who paid no heed. 
He left the roots to drain while he prepared supper, then placed 
them on the trays, now filled to overflowing. He was glad to finish. 
He could not cure anything else at present if he wanted to. He 
was as far advanced as he had been at the same time the previous 
year. Then he dressed neatly, locked the Girl’s room, and leaving 
Belshazzar to protect it, he went to Onabasha. 

“Bravo!” cried Doctor Carey as the Harvester entered his of- 
fice. “You are heroic to wait all day for news. How much stuff 
have you gathered?” 

“Three crops. How many missing women have you located?’ 

The doctor laughed. There was no sign of a smile on the face 
of the Harvester. 

“You didn’t really expect her to come to light the first day? 
That would be too easy! We can’t find her in a minute.” 

“Tt will be no surprise to me if you can’t find her at all. | am 
not expecting another man to do what I don’t myself.” 

“You are not hunting her. You are harvesting the woods. ‘The 
men you employ are to find her.” 

“Maybe I am; maybe I am not,” said the Harvester slowly. 
“To me it appears to be a poor stick of a man who coolly proceeds 
with money making, trusting to men who haven't even seen 
her to search for the girl he loves. I think a few hours of this is 
about all my patience will endure.” 

“What are you going to do?” 


64 THE HARVESTER 


“T don’t know,” said the Harvester. “But you can bank on one 
thing sure—I’m going to do something! I’ve had my fill of this. 
Thank you for all you’ve done, and all you are going to do. My 
head is not clear enough yet to decide anything with any sense, 
but maybe [ll hit on something soon. I’m for the streets for a 
while.” 

“Better go home and go to bed. You seem very tired.” 

“I am,” said the Harvester. ““The only way to endure this is 
to work myself down. I’m all right; Pll be careful, but I rather 
think [ll find her myself.” 

“Better go on with your work as we planned.” 

“Pll think about it,” said the Harvester. 

Until he was too tired to walk farther he slowly paced the 
streets of the city; then followed the home road through the valley 
and up the hill to Medicine Woods. When he came to Singing 
Water, Belshazzar heard his steps on the bridge, and came bound- 
ing to meet him. ‘The Harvester stretched himself on a seat, turn- 
ing his face to the sky. Insects were humming lazily in the perfumed 
night air; across the lake a courting whip-poor-will was explaining 
to his sweetheart how much and why he loved her. A few bats 
were wavering in air, hunting insects, and occasionally an owl or 
a nighthawk crossed the lake. Killdeer were glorying in the moon- 
light and night flight, crying in pure, clear notes as they sailed 
over the water. ‘The Harvester was tired and filled with unrest as 
he stretched on the bridge, but the longer he lay the more the 
enfolding voices comforted him. All of them were waiting, work- 
ing out their lives to the legitimate end; there was nothing else 
for him to do. He need not follow instinct or profit by chance. 
He was a man; he could plan and reason. 

The air grew balmy, then some big, soft clouds swept across 
the moon. The Harvester felt the dampness of rising dew, so he 
went to the cabin. He looked at it long in the moonlight and told 
himself that he could see how much the plants, vines, and ferns 
had grown since the previous night. Without making a light, he 
threw himself on the bed in the outdoor room, then lay looking 
through the screening at the lake and sky. He was working his 
brain to think of some manner in which to start a search for the 


TO LABOUR AND TO WAIT 65 


Dream Girl that would have some probability of success to recom- 
mend it, but he could settle on no feasible plan. At last he fell 
asleep. In the night soft rain wet his face. He pulled an oilcloth 
sheet over the bed, then lay breathing deeply of the damp, per- 
fumed air as he again slept. In the morning brilliant sunshine 
awoke him. He arose to find the earth steaming. 

“Tf ever there was a perfect mushroom day!”’ he said to Bel- 
shazzar. “We must hurry our work and gather some. ‘They mean 
real money.” 


CHAP TETR™ v a3 


The Quest of the Dream Girl 


Tue Harvester breakfasted, fed the stock, hitched Betsy to the 
spring wagon, then went into the dripping, steamy woods. If any 
one had asked him that morning concerning his idea of Heaven, 
he never would have dreamed of describing a place of gold-paved 
streets, crystal pillars, jewelled gates, or thrones of ivory. These 
things were beyond the man’s comprehension. He would not have 
admired or felt at home in such magnificence if it had been ma- 
terialized for him. He would have told you that a floor of last 
year’s brown leaves, studded with myriad flower faces, big, bark- 
encased pillars of a thousand years, jewels on every bush, shrub, 
and tree, tilting thrones on which gaudy birds almost burst them- 
selves to voice the joy of life, while their bright-eyed little mates 
peered questioningly at him over nest rims—he would have told 
you that Medicine Woods on a damp, sunny May morning was 
Heaven. He would have added that only one angel, tall and 
slender, with the pink of health on her cheeks and the dew of 
happiness in her dark eyes, was necessary to enter and establish 
glory. Everything spoke to him that morning, but the Harvester 
was silent. It had been his habit to talk constantly to Belshazzar, 
Ajax, his work, even the winds and perfumes; in this manner he 
dissipated solitude, but to-day he had no words for these dear 
friends. He only opened his soul to beauty, as he steadily climbed 
the hill to the crest, then down the other side to the rich, half- 
shaded, half-open spaces, where big, rough mushrooms sprang 
during such a night. 





THE QUEST OF THE DREAM GIRL. (6% 


He could see them from afar. He began work with rapid 
fingers, being careful to break off the heads, but not to pull up 
the roots. When four heaping baskets were filled he cut heavily 
leaved branches to spread over them, then started to Onabasha. 
As usual, Belshazzar rode beside him and questioned the Har- 
vester when he politely suggested to Betsy that she make haste. 

“Have you forgotten that mushrooms are perishable?” he asked. 
“If we don’t get these to the city all woodsy and fresh we can’t sell 
them. Wonder where we can do the best? The hotels pay well. 
Really, the biggest prices could be had b ss 

Then the Harvester threw back his head and began to laugh; 
he laughed, how he laughed! A crow on the fence joined him, 
while a kingfisher, heading for Loon Lake, and then Belshazzar, 
caught the infection. 

“Begorry! The very idea!” cried the Harvester. “ ‘Heaven 
helps them that help themselves.’ Now you just watch us ma- 
neeuvre for assistance, Belshazzar, old boy! Here we go!” 

Then the laugh began again. It continued all the way to Ona- 
basha, even into the city. The Harvester drove through the most 
prosperous street until he reached the residence district. At the 
first home he stopped, gave the lines to Belshazzar, and taking a 
basket of mushrooms, went up the walk and rang the bell. 

“All groceries should be delivered at the back door,” snapped 
a pert maid, before he had time to say a word. 

The Harvester lifted his hat. 

“Will you kindly tell the lady of the house that I wish to speak 
with her?” 

“What name please? 

“I want to show her some fine mushrooms, freshly gathered,” 
he answered. 

How she did it the Harvester never knew. The first thing he 
realized was that the door had closed, while the basket had been 
picked deftly from his fingers and was on the other side. After a 
short time the maid returned. 

“What do you want for them, please?” 

The last thing on earth the Harvester wanted to do was to part 
with those mushrooms, so he took one long, speculative look 





68 THE HARVESTER 


down the hall then named a price he thought would be prohibi- 
tive.. 

“One dollar a dozen.” 

“How many are there?” 

“I count them as I sell them. I do not know.” 

The door closed again. Presently it opened; the maid knelt on 
the floor before him and counted the mushrooms one by one into 
a dish pan and in a few minutes brought him seven dollars and 
fifty cents. The chagrined Harvester, feeling like a thief, put the 
money in his pocket, and turned away. 

“I was to tell you,” said she, “that you are to bring all you have 
to sell here, but the next time please go to the kitchen door.” 

“Must be fond of mushrooms,” said the disgruntled Harvester. 

“They are a great delicacy, and we have visitors.” ‘The Har- 
vester ached to set the girl to one side and walk through the house, 
but he did not dare; so he returned to the street, whistled to Betsy 
to come, and went to the next gate. Here he hesitated. Should he 
risk further snubbing at the front door or go back at once. If he 
did, he would see only a maid. As he stood an instant debating, 
the door of the house he just had left opened and the girl ran 
after him. “If you have more, we will take them,” she called. 

The Harvester gasped for breath. 

‘They have to be used at once,” he suggested. 

“She knows that. She wants to treat her friends.” 

“Well she has got enough for a banquet,” he said. “I—I don’t 
usually sell more than a dozen or two in one place.” 

“TI don’t see why you can’t let her have them if you have 
more.”’ 

“Perhaps I have orders to fill for regular customers,” suggested 
the Harvester. 

‘And perhaps you haven’t,” said the maid. “You ought to be 
ashamed not to let people who are willing to pay your outrageous 
prices have them. It’s regular highway robbery.” 

‘Possibly that’s the reason I decline to hold up one party 
twice,” said the Harvester as he entered the gate and went up the 
walk to the front door. 

“You should be taught your place,” called the maid after him. 





THE QUEST OF THE DREAM GIRL_ 69 


The Harvester rang the bell. Another maid opened the door, 
once more he asked to speak with the lady of the house. As the 
girl turned, a handsome old woman in cap and morning gown 
came down the stairs. 

“What have you there?” she asked. 

The Harvester lifted the leaves to expose the musky, crumpled, 
big mushrooms. 

“Oh!” she cried in delight. “Indeed, yes! We are very fond of 
them. I will take the basket, and divide with my sons. You are sure 
you have no poisonous ones among them?” 

“Very sure,” said the Harvester faintly. 

“How much do you want for the basket?” 

*“They are a dollar a dozen; I haven’t counted them.” 

“Dear me! Isn’t that rather expensive?” 

“It is. Very!” said the Harvester. “So expensive that most 
people don’t think of taking over a dozen. They are large and 
very rich, so they go a long way.” 

“I suppose you have to spend a great deal of time hunting 
them? It does seem expensive, but they are fresh, and the boys are 
so fond of them. I’m not often extravagant, I’ll just take the lot. 
Sarah, bring a pan.” 

Again the Harvester stood and watched an entire basket 
counted over and carried away, while he felt the robber he had ~ 
been called as he took the money. 

At the next house he had learned a lesson. He carpeted a basket 
with leaves, counted out a dozen and a half into it, leaving the 
remainder in the wagon. Three blocks on one side of the street 
exhausted his store while he was showered with orders. He had 
not seen any one that even resembled a dark-eyed girl. As he came 
from the last house a big, red motor sped past, then suddenly 
slowed and backed beside his wagon. 

“What in the name of sense are you doing?” demanded Doctor 
Carey. 

“Invading the residence district of Onabasha,” said the Har- 
vester. “Madam, would you like some nice, fresh, country mush- 
rooms? I guarantee that there are no poisonous ones among them, 
and they were gathered this morning. Considering their rarity 


70 THE HARVESTER 


and the difficult work of collecting, they are exceedingly low at 
my price. I am offering these five dollars a dozen, madam, and 
for mercy sake don’t take them or I'll have no excuse for going 
to the next house.” 

The doctor stared, then understood, and began to laugh. When 
at last he could speak he said: “David, Pll bet you started with 
three bushels, began at the head of this street, and they are all 
gone.” 

“Put up a good one!” said the Harvester. “You win. The first 
house I tried they ordered me to the back door, took a market 
basket full away from me by force, tried to buy the load, and I 
didn’t see any one save a maid.” 

The doctor lay on the steering gear and faintly groaned. 

The Harvester regarded him sympathetically. ‘“Isn’t it a crime?” 
he questioned. “Mushrooms are no go. I can see that !—or rather 
they are entirely too much of a go. I never saw anything in such 
demand. I must seek a less popular article for my purpose. To- 
morrow look out for me. I shall begin where I left off to-day, but 
I will have changed my product.” 

“David, for pity sake,’ gasped the doctor. 

“‘What do I care how I do it, so I locate her?” 

“But you won’t find her!” 

“I’ve come as close it as you so far, anyway,” said the Har- 
vester. ““Your mushrooms are on the desk in your office.” 

He drove slowly up and down the streets until Betsy wabbled 
on her legs. Then he left her to rest and walked until he wabbled; 
by that time it was dark, so he went home. 

At the first hint of dawn he was at work the following morning. 
With loaded baskets closely covered, he started to Onabasha, 
beginning where he had quit the day before. ‘This time he carried 
a small, crudely fashioned bark basket, leaf-covered, while he 
rang at front doors with confidence. 

Every one seemed to have a maid in that part of the city, for 
a freshly capped and aproned girl answered. 

“Are there any young women living here?” blandly inquired 
the Harvester. 

“What’s that of your business?” she demanded. 


THE QUEST OF THE DREAM GIRL yi 


The Harvester flushed, but continued: “I am offering some- 
thing especially intended for young women. If there are none, 
I will not trouble you.” 

“There are several.” 

“Will you please ask them if they would care for bouquets of 
violets, fresh from the woods?” 

“How much are they, and how large are the bunches?” 

‘Prices differ, and they are the right size to appear well. They 
had better see for themselves.” 

The maid reached for the basket, but the Harvester drew back. 

“I keep them in my possession,” he said. “You may take a 
sample.” 

He lifted the leaves, drawing forth a medium-sized bunch of 
long-stemmed blue violets with their leaves. The flowers were 
fresh, crisp, and strong odours of the woods arose from them. 

“Oh!” cried the maid. “Oh, how lovely!” 

She hurried away with them and returned, carrying a purse. 
“I want two more bunches,” she said. “How much are they?” 

“Are the girls who want them dark or fair?” 

“What difference does that make?” 

“I have blue violets for blondes, yellow for brunettes, and 
white for the others.” 

“Well I never! One is fair, and two have brown hair and blue 
eyes.” 

“One blue and two whites,” said the Harvester calmly, as if 
matching woman’s hair and eyes with flowers were an inherited 
vocation. “They are twenty cents a bunch.” 

“Aha!” he chortled to himself as he whistled to Betsy. “At 
last we have it. There are no dark-eyed girls here. Now we are 
making headway.” 

Down the street he went, with varying fortune, but with pa- 
tience and persistence at every house he at last managed to learn 
whether there were a dark-eyed girl. There did not seem to be 
many. Long before his store of yellow violets was gone the last 
blue and white had disappeared. He calmly went on asking for 
dark-eyed girls, and explaining that all the blue and white were 
taken, because fair women were most numerous. 


’ 


72 THE HARVESTER 


At one house the owner, who reminded the Harvester of his 
mother, came to the door. He uncovered and in his suavest tones 
inquired if a brunette young woman lived there and if she would 
like a nosegay of yellow violets. 

“Well bless my soul!’ cried she. ““What is this world coming 
to? Do you mean to tell me that there are now able-bodied men 
offering at our doors, flowers to match our girls’ complexions?” 

“Yes madam,” said the Harvester gravely, ‘‘and also selling 
them as fast as he can show them, at prices that make a profit 
very well worth while. I had an equal number of blue and white, 
but dark girls are very much in the minority. The others were 
gone long ago, so I now have flowers to offer brunettes only.” 

“Well forever more! And you don’t call that fiddlin’ business 
for a big, healthy, young man?” 

The Harvester’s gay laugh was infectious. “I do not,” he said. 
“I have to start as soon as I can see, tramp long distances in wet 
woods and gather the violets on my knees, make them into 
bunches, and bring them here in water to keep them fresh. I 
have another occupation. I only kill time on these, but I would 
be ashamed to tell you what I have got from them this morning.” 

‘“Humph! I’m glad to hear it!’ said the woman. “Shame in 
some form is a sign of grace. I have no use for a human being 
without a generous supply of it. There is a very beautiful dark- 
eyed girl in the house; I will take two bunches for her. How much 
are they?” 

“I have only three remaining,” said the Harvester. ‘““Would 
you like to allow her to make her own selection?” 

“When I’m giving things I usually take my choice. I want that, 
and that one.” 

‘As my stock is so nearly out, P’ll make the two for twenty,” 
said the Harvester. ‘““Won’t you accept the last one from me, be- 
cause you remind me of my mother?” 

“T will indeed,” said she. ““Thank you very much! I shall love 
to have them as dearly as any of the girls. I used to gather them 
when I was a child, but I almost never see the blue ones any 
more, while I don’t know as I ever expected to see a yellow vio- 
let again so long as I live. Where did you get them?” 





THE QUEST OF THE DREAM GIRL_ 73 


“In my woods,” said the Harvester. “You see I grow several 
members of the Viola pedata family, bird’s foot, snake, and wood 
violet, and three of the odorata, English, marsh, and sweet, for 
our big drug houses. They use the flowers in making delicate tests 
for acids and alkalies. The entire plant, flower, seed, leaf, and 
root, goes into different remedies. The beds seed themselves and 
spread, so when I have more than I need for the chemists, I sell 
a few. I don’t use the white and yellow in my business; I grow 
them for their beauty. I also sell my surplus lilies of the valley. 
Would you like to order some of them for your house or more 
violets for to-morrow?” 

‘Well bless my soul! Do you mean to tell me that lilies of the 
valley are medicine?” 

The Harvester laughed. “‘I grow immense beds of them in the 
woods on the banks of Loon Lake,” he said. “They are the con- 
vallaris majallis of the drug houses. I scarcely know what the 
weak-hearted people would do without them. I use large quanti- 
ties in trade, and this season I am selling a few because people 
so love them.” 

“Lilies in medicine; well dear me! Are roses good for our in- 
nards too?” 

Then the Harvester did laugh. 

“I imagine the roses you know go into perfumes mostly,” he 
answered. “They do make medicine of Canadian rock rose and 
rose bay, laurel, and willow. I grow the bushes, but they are not 
what you would consider roses.” 

“IT wonder now,” said the woman, studying the Harvester 
closely, “if you are not that queer genius I’ve heard of, who 
spends his time hunting and growing stuff in the woods so 
people call him the Medicine Man.” 

“T strongly suspect madam, I am that man,” said the Har- 
vester. 

“Well bless me!” cried she. ‘I’ve always wanted to see you 
and here when I do, you look just like anybody else. I thought 
you’d have long hair, and be wild-eyed and ferocious. And your 
talk sounds like out of a book. Well that beats me!” 

“Me too!” said the Harvester, lifting his hat. “You don’t want 
any lilies to-morrow, then?” 


74 THE HARVESTER 


“Yes I do. Medicine or no medicine, I’ve always liked ’em, 
so I’m going to keep on liking them. If you can bring me a good- 
sized bunch after the weak-kneed——” 

‘““Weak-hearted,” corrected the Harvester. 

“Well ‘weak-hearted,’ then; it’s all the same thing. If you’ve 
got any left, as I was saying, you can fetch them to me for the 
smell.” 

The Harvester laughed all the way down town. There he went 
to Doctor Carey’s office, examined a directory, and took the 
names of all the numbers where he had sold yellow violets. A 
few questions when the doctor came in settled all of them, but 
the flower scheme was better. Because the yellow was not so plen- 
tiful as the white and blue, next day he added buttercups and 
cowslips to his store for the dark girls. When he had rifled his 
beds for the last time, after three weeks of almost daily trips to 
town, and had paid high prices to small boys he set searching the 
adjoining woods until no more flowers could be found, he drove 
from the outskirts of the city one day toward the hospital. As he 
stopped, down the street came Doctor Carey frantically waving 
to him. As the big car slackened, “(Come on David, quick! I’ve 
seen her!” cried the doctor. 

The Harvester jumped from the wagon, threw the lines to Bel- 
shazzar, and landed in the panting car. 

‘For Heaven’s sake where? Are you sure?” 

The car went speeding down the street. A policeman beckoned 
and cried after it. 

“It won’t do any good to get arrested, Doc,” cautioned the 
Harvester. 

‘Now right along here,” said Doctor Carey. “Watch both sides 
sharply. If I stop you jump out, and tell the blame policemen to 
get at their job. The party they are hired to find is right under 
their noses.” 

The Harvester began to perspire. “Doc, don’t you think you 
should tell me? Maybe she is in some store. Maybe I could do 
better on foot.” 

‘Shut up!” growled the doctor. “I am doing the best I know.” 

He hurried up the street for blocks then back again, and at 





222 QUEST OFVYTHE DREAM GIRL 75 


last stopped before a large store and went in. When he returned 
he drove to the hospital and together they entered the office. 
There he turned to the Harvester. 

“Tt isn’t so hard to understand you now, my boy,” he said. 
“Shades of Diana, but she’ll be a beauty when she has a little 
more flesh and colour. She came out of Whitlaw’s and walked 
right to the crossing. I almost could have touched her, but I 
didn’t notice. Two girls passed before me, and in hurrying, a tall, 
_ dark one knocked off one of your bunches of yellow violets. She 
glanced at it and laughed, but let it lay. Then your girl hesitated, 
stooped and picked it up. The crazy policeman yelled at me to 
_ clear the crossing so it didn’t hit me for half a block how tall and 
_ white she was and how dark her eyes were. I was just thinking 
_ about her picking up the flowers, and that it was queer for her to 
_ do it, when like a brick it hit me, that’s David’s girl! I tried to 
turn around, but you know what Main Street is in the middle of 
the day. And those idiots of policemen! They ordered me on, I 
couldn’t turn for a street car coming, so I called to one of them 
that the girl we wanted was down the street. He looked at me 
like an addlepate and said: ‘What girl? Move on or you'll get 
in a jam here.’ You can use me for a football if I don’t go back 
- and smash him. Paid him five dollars myself less than two weeks 
ago to keep his eyes open. ‘To keep his eyes open!” panted the 
doctor, shaking his fist at David. “Yes sir! “To keep his eyes open!’ 
And he motioned for things to come along; so I lost her too.” 

“T think we had better go back to the street,” said the Har- 
vester. 

“Ok, I’d been back and forth along that street for nearly an 
hour before I gave up and came here to see if I could find you, 
and we’ve hunted it an hour more! What’s the use? She’s gone 
for this time, but by gum, I saw her! And she was worth seeing!” 

“Did she appear ill to you?” 

The doctor dropped on a chair and threw out his hands hope- 
lessly. 

“This was awful sudden, David,” he said. “I was going along 
as I told you, and I noticed her stop and thought she had a good 
head to wait a second instead of running in before me, then there 


76 THE HARVESTER 


came those two girls right under the car from the other side. I 
only had a glimpse of her as she stooped for the flowers. I saw a 
big braid of hair, but I was half a block away before I got it all 
connected, and then came the crusn in the street, so I was 
blocked.” 

The doctor broke down, wiped his face and expressed his feel- 
ings unrestrainedly. 

“Don’t!” said the Harvester patiently. “It’s no use to feel so 
badly, Doc. I know what you would give to have found her for 
me. I know you did all you could. I let her escape me. We will 
find her yet. It’s glorious news that she’s in the city. It gives me 
heart to hear that. Can’t you just remember if she seemed ill?” 

The doctor meditated. 

“She wasn’t the tallest girl I ever saw,” he said slowly, “but she 
was the tallest girl to be pretty. She had on a white waist, a gray 
skirt and black hat. Her eyes and hair were like you said, and she 
was plain, white faced, with a hue that might possibly be natural, 
and it might be confinement in bad light and air and poor food. 
She didn’t seem sick, but she isn’t well. ‘There is something the 
matter with her, but it’s not immediate or dangerous. She ap- 
peared like a flower that had got a little moisture and sprouted 
in a cellar.” 

“You saw her all right!” said the Harvester, “and I think your 
diagnosis is correct too. That’s the way she seemed to me. I’ve 
thought she needed sun and air. I told the South Wind so the 
other day.” 

‘Why you blame fool!’ cried the doctor. “Is this thing going 
to your head? Say, I forgot! There is something else. I traced her 
in the store. She was at the embroidery counter and she bought 
some silk. If she ever comes again the clerk is going to hold her 
and telephone me or get her address if she has to steal it. Oh, 
we are getting there! We will have her pretty soon now. You 
ought to feel better just to know that she is in town and that I’ve 
seen her.” 

“TI do!” said the Harvester. “Indeed I do!” 

“It can’t be much longer,” said the doctor. “She’s got to be 
located soon. But those policemen! I wouldn’t give a nickel for 





THE QUEST ‘OF THE DREAM GIRL 77 


the lot! I'll bet she’s walked over them for two weeks. If I were 
you I’d discharge the bunch. They’d be peacefully asleep if she 
passed them. If they’d let me alone, I’d have had her. I could 
have turned around easily. I’ve been in dozens of closer places.” 

“Don’t worry! ‘This can’t last much longer. She’s of and in the 
city or she wouldn’t have picked up the flowers. Doc, are you sure 
- they were mine?” 

“Yes. Half the girls have been tricked out in yours the past two 
weeks. I can spot them as far as I can see.” 

“Dear Lord, that’s getting close!” said the Harvester intensely. 
“Seems as if the violets would tell her.” 

“Now cut out flowers talking and the South Wind!’ ordered 
the doctor. “This is business. The violets prove something all 
right, though. If she were in the country, she could gather plenty 
herself. She is working at sewing in some room in town, either 
over a store or in a house. If she hadn’t been starved for flowers 
she never would have stopped for them on the street. I could see 
just a flash of hesitation, but she wanted them too much. David, 
one bouquet will go in water and be cared for a week. Man, it’s 
getting close! This does seem like a link.” 

“Since you say it, possibly I dare agree with you,” said the 
Harvester. 

“How near are you through with that canvass of yours?” 

“About three-fourths.” 

“Well I'd go on with it. After all we have got to find her our- 
selves. Those senile policemen!” 

“I am going on with it; you needn’t worry about that. But 
I’ve got to change to other flowers. I’ve stripped the violet beds. 
There’s quite a crop of berries coming, but they are not ripe yet, 
and a tragedy to pick. The pond lilies are just beginning to open 
by the thousand. The lake border is blue with sweet-flag that is 
lovely and the marsh pale gold with cowslips. The ferns are prime 
and the woods solid sheets of every colour of bloom. I believe Pll 
go ahead with the wild flowers.” 

“T would too! David, you do feel better, don’t you?” 

“T certainly do. Surely it won’t be long now!” 

The Harvester was so hopeful that he whistled and sang on the 


78 THE HARVESTER 


return to Medicine Woods, and that night for the first time in 
many days he sat long over a candlestick, and took a farewell 
peep into her room before he went to bed. 

The next day he worked with all his might harvesting the last 
remnants of early spring herbs, in the dry-room and storehouse, 
and on furniture and candlesticks. 

Then he went back to flower gathering and every day offered 
bunches of exquisite wood and field flowers and white and gold 
water lilies from door to door. 

Three weeks later the Harvester, perceptibly thin, pale, and 
worried entered the office. He sank into a chair and groaned 
wearily. 

“Isn't this the bitterest luck!” he cried. “I’ve finished the town. 
I’ve almost walked off my legs. I’ve sold flowers by the million, 
but I’ve not had a sight of her.” 

“Tt’s been almost a tragedy with me,” said the doctor gloom- 
ily. “I’ve killed two dogs and grazed a baby, because I was watch- 
ing the sidewalks instead of the street. What are you going to do 
now?” 

“T am going home and bring up the work to the July mark. 
I am going to take it easy and rest a few days so I can think more 
clearly. I don’t know what I'll try next. I’ve punched up the 
depot and the policemen again. When I get something new 
thought out [Il let you know.” 

Then he began emptying his pockets of money and heaping it 
on the table, small coins, bills, big and little. 

“What on earth is that?” 

“That,” said the Harvester, giving the heap a shove of con- 
tempt, “‘that is the price of my pride and humiliation. That is 
what it cost people who allowed me to cheek my way into their 
homes and rob them, as one maid said, for my own purposes. 
Doc, where on earth does all the money come from? In almost 
every house I entered, women had it to waste, in many cases to 
throw away. I never saw so much paid for nothing in all my life. 
That whole heap is from mushrooms and flowers.” 

“What are you piling it there for?” 

“For your free ward. I don’t want a penny of it. I wouldn’t 
keep it, not if I were starving.” 


TRE QUEST OF THE DREAM GIRL 79 


“Why David! You couldn’t compel any one to buy. You of- 
fered something they wanted, and they paid you what you asked.” 
“Yes, and to keep them from buying, and to make the stuff 


_ go farther, I named prices to shame a shark. When I think of 


: 





title. You can’t imagine what I’ve been through 


that mushroom deal I can feel my face burn. P’ve made the 
search I wanted to, and I am satisfied that I can’t find her that 
_ way. I have kept up my work at home between times. I am not 


out anything but my time, and it isn’t fair to plunder the city 
to pay that. Take the cussed money and put it where [’Il never 
see or hear of it. When I wash my hands after touching it for 
the last time maybe [ll feel better.” 

“You are a fanatic!” 

“If getting rid of that is being fantastic, I am proud of the 
1>? 

“Can’t I though?” laughed the doctor. “In work of that kind 
you get into every variety of place; and some of it is new to you. 
Never mind! No one can contaminate you. It is the law that only 
a man can degrade himself. Knowing things will not harm you. 
Doing them is a different matter. What you know will be a pro- 
tection. What you do ruins—if it is wrong. You are not harmed, 
you are only disgusted. Think it over, and in a few days come 
back and get your money.” 

“Tf you ever speak of it again or force it on me I'll take it 
home and throw it into the lake.” 

He went after Betsy, then slowly drove to Medicine Woods. 
Belshazzar, on the seat beside him, recognized a silent, disap- 
pointed master and whimpered as he rubbed the Harvester’s 
shoulder to attract his attention. 

“This is tough luck, old boy,” said the Harvester. “I had such 
hopes and I worked so hard. I suffered in the flesh for every hour 
of it, and I failed. Oh but I hate the word! If I knew where she 
is right now, Bel, I’d give anything I’ve got. But there’s no use 
to wail and get sorry for myself. That’s against the law of com- 
mon decency. I’ll take a swim, sleep it off, straighten up the herbs 
a little, then go at it again, old fellow; that’s a man’s way. She’s 
somewhere, so she’s got to be found, no matter what it costs.” 


GH. AcP\T EB Ry VULLI 


Belshazzar’s Record Point 


Tue Harvester set the neglected cabin in order; then he carefully - 


and deftly packed all his dried herbs, barks, and roots. Next came 


carrying the couch grass, wild alum, and soapwort into the store- 


room. ‘Then followed July herbs. He first went to his beds of fox- 
glove, because the tender leaves of the second year should be 
stripped from them at flowering time, which usually began two 
weeks earlier; but his bed lay in a shaded, damp location so the 
tall bloom stalks were only in half flower, their pale lavender 
making an exquisite picture. It paid to collect those leaves, so the 
Harvester hastily stripped the amount he wanted. 

Yarrow was beginning to bloom. He gathered as much as he 
required, taking the whole plant. Catnip tops and leaves were also 
ready. As it grew in the open in dry soil in beds which had been 
weeded that spring, he could gather armloads of it with a sickle, 
but he had to watch the swarming bees. He left the male fern 
and mullein until the last for different reasons. 

On the damp, cool, rocky hillside, beneath deep shade of big 
forest trees, grew the ferns, their long, graceful fronds waving 
softly. ‘Tree toads sang on the cool rocks beneath them, chewinks 
nested under gnarled roots among them, rose-breasted grosbeaks 
sang in grape-vines clambering over the thickets, and Singing 
Water ran close beside. So the Harvester left digging these roots 
until nearly the last, because he so disliked to disturb the bed. He 
could not have done it if he had not been forced. All of the de- 


BELSHAZZAR S RECORD POINT SI 


mand for his fern never could be supplied. Of his products none 
was more important to the Harvester because this formed the 
basis of one of the oldest and most reliable remedies for little 
children. The fern had to be gathered with especial care, deterio- 
rated quickly, and no staple was more subject to adulteration. 

So he kept his bed intact, lifted the roots at the proper time, 
carefully cleaned without washing, rapidly dried in currents of 
hot air, and shipped them in bottles to the trade. He charged 


_and received fifteen cents a pound, where careless and indifferent 
_ workers were paid ten. 


On the banks of Singing Water, at the head of the fern bed, 


the Harvester stood under a gray beech tree and looked down 
the swaying length of delicate green. He was lean and rapidly 


bronzing, for he seldom remembered a head covering because he 
loved the sweep of the wind through his hair. 

“T hate to touch you,” he said. “How I wish she could see 
you before I begin. If she did, probably she would say it was a 
sin, and then I never could muster courage to do it at all. d 
give a small farm to know if those violets revived for her. I was 
crazy to ask Doc if they were wilted, but I hated to. If they were 
from the ones I gathered that morning they should have been all 
right.” 

A tree toad dared him to come on; a chipmunk grew saucy 
as the Harvester bent to an unloved task. If he stripped the bed 
as closely as he dared not to injure it, he could not fill half his 
orders; so, deftly and with swift, skilful fingers and an earnest 
face, he worked. Belshazzar came down the hill on a rush, nose 
to earth, and began hunting among the plants. He never could 
understand why his loved master was so careless as to go to work 
before he had pronounced it safe. When the fern bed was fin- 
ished, the Harvester took time to make a trip to town, but there 


was no word waiting him; so he went to the mullein. It lay on a 


sunny hillside beyond the couch grass and joined a few small 
fields, the only cleared land of the six hundred acres of Medicine 
Woods. Over rocks and little hills and hollows spread the pale, 
grayish-yellow of the green leaves, while from five to seven feet 
arose the flower stems, the entire earth between being covered 


82 THE HARVESTER 


with rosettes of young plants. Belshazzar went before to give 
warning if any big rattlers curled in the sun on the hillside, and 
after him followed the Harvester cutting leaves in heaps. ‘That 
was warm work, so he covered his head with a floppy old straw 
hat, with wet grass in the crown; stopping occasionally to rest. 

He loved that yellow-faced hillside. Because so much of his 
reaping lay in the shade and usually his feet sank in dead leaves 
and damp earth, the change was a rest. He cheerfully stubbed 
his toes on rocks, and endured the heat without a complaint. It 
appeared to him as if a member of every species of butterfly 
he knew wavered down the hillside. There were golden-brown 
danais, with their black-striped wings, jetty troilus with an at- 
tempt at trailers, big asterias, velvety black with longer trails and 
wide bands of yellow dots. Coenia were most numerous of all and 
to the Harvester wonderfully attractive in rich, subdued colours 
with a wealth of markings and eye spots. Many small moths, with 
transparent wings and noses red as blood, flashed past him hunt- 
ing pollen. Goldfinches, intent on thistle bloom, wavered through 
the air trailing mellow, happy notes behind them, while often a 
hummingbird visited the mullein. On the lake wild life splashed 
and chattered incessantly; sometimes the Harvester paused, stand- 
ing with arms heaped with leaves, to interpret some unusually 
appealing note of pain or anger or some very attractive melody. 
The red-wings were swarming, the killdeers busy. He thought of 
the Dream Girl and smiled. “I wonder if she would like this,” 
he mused. 

When the mullein leaves were deep on the trays of the dry- 
house he began on the bloom, but that was a task he loved: to 
lay off the beds in swaths and follow them, deftly picking the 
stamens and yellow petals from the blooms. ‘These he would dry 
speedily in hot air, bottle, and send at once to big laboratories. 
The listed price was seventy-five cents a pound, but the beauti- 
ful golden bottles of the Harvester always brought more. The 
work was worth while; he liked the location and gathering of this 
particular crop: for these reasons he always left it until the last, 
then revelled in the gold of sunshine, bird, butterfly, and flower. 
Several days were required to harvest the mullein, during the 





BELSHAZZAR’S RECORD POINT 83 


time the man worked with nimble fingers, while his brain was 
intensely occupied with the question of what to do next in his 
search for the Girl. 

When the work was finished, he went to the deep wood to 
examine acres of thrifty ginseng. He was satisfied as he surveyed 
the big bed. Long years he had laboured diligently; soon came 
the reward. He had not realized it before, but as he studied the 
situation he saw that he either must begin this harvest at once 
or employ help. If he waited until September he could not gather 
one-third of the crop alone. 

“But the roots will weigh less if I take them now,” he argued, 
“and I can work at nothing in comfort until I have located her. 
I will go on with my search and allow the ginseng to grow that 
much heavier. What a picture! It is folly to disturb this now, 
for I will lose the seed of every plant I dig, and that is worth 
almost as much as the root. It is a question whether I want to 
furnish the market with seed, and so raise competition for my 
bed. I think, be jabbers, that I'll wait for this harvest until the 
seed is ripe, and then bury part of a head where I dig a root, 
as the Indians did. That’s the idea! The more I grow, the more 
money; and I may need considerable for her. One thing I'd like 
to know: Are these plants cultivated? All the books quote the 
wild at highest rates and all I’ve ever sold was wild. ‘The start 
grew here naturally. What I added from the surrounding country 
was wild, but through and among it I’ve sown seed I bought, and 
I’ve tended it with every care. But this is deep wood and wild 
conditions. I think I have a perfect right to so label it. I'll ask 
Doc. And another thing—I’ll go through the woods west of Ona- 
basha where I used to find ginseng, and see if I can get a little 
and then take the same amount of plants grown here, and make 
a test. That way I can discover any difference before I go to 
market. This is my gold mine, and that point is mighty important 
to me, so I’ll go this very day. I used to find it in the woods north- 
east of town on the land Jameson bought, west. Wonder if he 
lives there yet. He should have died of pure meanness long ago. 
T’'ll drive to the river and hunt along the bank.” 

Early the following morning the Harvester went to Onabasha, 


84. THE HARVESTER 


stopping at the hospital for news. Finding none, he went through | 
town and several miles into the country on the other side, to a 
piece of lowland lying along the river bank, where he once had 
found ginseng and carried home enough to reset a big bed. If. 
he could get only half a pound of roots from there now, they 
would serve his purpose. He went down the bank, Belshazzar at 
his heels, and at last found the place. Many trees had been cut, 
but there remained enough for shade; the fields bore the ragged, 
unattractive appearance of old. ‘The Harvester smiled grimly as 
he remembered that the man who lived there once had charged 
him for damage he might do to trees in driving across his woods, 
then boasted to his neighbours that a young fool was paying for 
the privilege of doing his grubbing. If Jameson had known what 
the roots he was so anxious to dispose of brought a pound on the 
market at that time, he would have been insane with anger. So 
the Harvester’s eyes were dancing with fun, a wry grin twisted 
his lips as he clambered over the banks of the recently dredged 
river, standing an instant to look at its pitiful condition and 
straight, muddy flow. 

“Appears to match the remainder of the Jameson property,” 
he said. “I don’t know who he is or where he came from, but 
he’s no farmer. Perhaps he uses this land to corral the stock he 
buys until he can sell it again.” 

He went down the embankment, beginning to search for the 
location where he formerly had found the ginseng. When he 
came to the place he stood amazed, for from seed, roots, and 
plants he had missed, the growth had sprung up and spread, so — 
that at a rapid estimate the Harvester thought it contained at 
least five pounds, allowing for shrinkage on account of being 
gathered early. He hesitated, thinking of coming later; but the - 
drive was long and the loss would not amount to enough to pay 
for a second trip. About taking it, he never thought at all. He 
once had permission from the owner to dig the shrubs, bushes, 
and weeds he desired from that stretch of woods; he had paid 
for possible damages that might occur. As he bent to the task 
there did come a fleeting thought that the patch was weedless 
and in unusual shape for wild stuff. Then, with swift strokes of — 


BELSHAZZAR’S RECORD POINT 85 


his light mattock, he lifted the roots, crammed them into his sack, 
whistled to Belshazzar, and going back to the wagon, drove away. 
Reaching home he washed the ginseng, and spread it on a tray 
‘to dry. The first time he wanted the mattock he realized that he 
had left it lying where he had worked. It was an implement that 
he had directed a blacksmith to fashion to meet his requirements. 
No store contained anything half so useful to him. He had 
worked with it for years and it suited him, so there was nothing 
to do but go back. Betsy was too tired to return that day, so he 
planned to dig his ginseng with something else, finish his work 
the following morning, and get the mattock in the afternoon. 

“Tt’s like a knife you’ve carried for years, or a gun,” muttered 
the Harvester. “I actually don’t know how to work without it. 
What made me so careless I can’t imagine. I never before in my 
life did a trick like that. Now Betsy and half a day of wasted time 
must pay for my carelessness. Since I must go, I'll look a little 
farther. Maybe there is more. Those woods used to be full of it.” 

According to this programme, the following afternoon the 
Harvester again walked down the embankment of the mourn- 
ing river, then through the ragged woods to the place where the 
ginseng had been. He went forward, stepping lightly, as men of 
his race had walked the forest for ages, swerving to avoid boughs; 
looking straight ahead. Contrary to his usual custom of coming 
to heel in a strange wood, Belshazzar suddenly darted around the 
man, taking the path they had followed the previous day. ‘The 
animal was performing his office in life; he had heard or scented 
something unusual. The Harvester knew what that meant. He 
looked inquiringly at the dog, glanced around, then at the earth. 
Belshazzar proceeded noiselessly at a rapid pace over the leaves. 
Suddenly the master saw the dog stop in a stiff point. Lifting 
his feet lightly and straining his eyes before him, the Harvester 
passed a spice thicket, then came in line. 

For one second he stood as rigid as Belshazzar. The next his 
right arm shot upward full length, beginning to describe circles, 
his open palm heavenward; while into his face leapt a glorified 
expression of exultation. Face down in the rifled ginseng bed lay 
a sobbing girl. Her frame was long and slender, a thick coil of 





86 THE HARVESTER 


dark hair bound her head. A second more the Harvester bent to 
gently pat Belshazzar’s head. The beast broke point, looking up. 
The man caught the dog’s chin in a caressing grip, again touched 
his head, moved soundless lips, then waved toward the prostrate 
figure. The dog hesitated. ‘The Harvester made the same mo- 
tions. Belshazzar softly stepped over the leaves, passed around 
the feet of the girl, pausing beside her, nose to earth, softly snif- 
fing. 

In one moment she came swiftly to a sitting posture. 

“Oh!” she cried in a spasm of fright. 

Belshazzar reached an investigating nose, wagging an eager 
tail. 

“Why you are a nice friendly dog!” said the trembling voice. 

He immediately verified the assertion by offering his nose for 
a caress. The girl timidly laid a hand on his head. 

“Heaven knows I’m lonely enough to kiss a dog,” she said, 
“but suppose you belong to the man who stole my ginseng, and 
then ran away so fast he forgot his—his piece he digged with.” 

Belshazzar pressed closer. 

“T am just killed, so I don’t care whose dog you are,” sobbed 
the girl. 

She threw her arms around Belshazzar’s neck, laying her white 
face against his satiny shoulder. The Harvester could endure no 
more. He took a step forward, his face convulsed with pain. 

“Please don’t!’ he begged. “I took your ginseng. I'll bring it 
back to-morrow. There wasn’t more than twenty-five or thirty 
dollars’ worth. It doesn’t amount to one tear.” 

The girl arose so quickly, the Harvester could not see how she 
did it. With a startled fright on her face, her dark eyes swim-_ 
ming, she turned to him in one long look. Words rolled from the 
lips of the man in a jumble. Behind the tears there was a dull, 
expressionless blue in the girl’s eyes while her face was so white - 
that it appeared blank. He began talking before she could speak, | 
in an effort to secure forgiveness without condemnation. 

“You see, I grow it for a living on land I own, so I’ve always | 
gathered all there was in the country and no one cared. There 
never was enough in one place to pay; no other man wanted to 


b) 





BELSHAZZAR’S RECORD POINT 87 


spend the time, and so I’ve always felt free to take it. Every one 
knew I did, no one ever objected before. Once I paid Henry 
Jameson for the privilege of cleaning it from these woods. That 
was six or seven years ago, but it didn’t occur to me that I wasn’t 
at liberty to dig what has grown since. I’ll bring it back at once, 
and pay you for the shrinkage from gathering it too early. ‘There 
won’t be much over six pounds when it’s dry. Please, please don’t 
feel badly. Won’t you trust me to return it, and make good the 
damage I’ve done?” 

The face of the Harvester was eager, his tones appealing, as 
he leaned forward trying to make her understand. 

“Certainly!” said the Girl as she bent to pat the dog, while 
she dried her eyes under cover of the movement. “Certainly! 
It can make no difference!” 

But as the Harvester drew a deep breath of relief, she sud- 
denly straightened to full height and looked at him. 

“Oh, what is the use to tell a pitiful lie!” she cried. “It does 
make a difference! It makes all the difference in the world! I 
need that money! I need it unspeakably. I owe a debt I must 
pay. What—what did I understand you to say ginseng is 
worth?” 

“Tf you will take a few steps,” said the Harvester, ‘‘and make 
yourself comfortable on this log in the shade, I will tell you all 
I know about it.” 

The girl walked swiftly to the log indicated, seated herself, 
and waited. The Harvester followed to a respectful distance. 

“T can’t tell to an ounce what wet roots would weigh,” he said 
as easily as he could command his voice to speak, with the heart 
in him beating wildly, “and of course they lose in drying; but 
I’ve handled enough that I know the weight I carried home will 
come to six pounds at the very least. Then you must figure on 
some loss, because I dug this before it really was ready. It does 
not reach full growth until September, so if it is taken too soon 
there is a decrease in weight. I will make that up to you when 
I return it.” 

The troubled eyes were gazing on his face intently, and the 
Harvester studied them as he talked. 


88 THE HARVESTER 


“You would think, then, there would be all of six pounds?” 

“Yes,” said the Harvester, ‘“‘closer eight. When I replace the 
shrinkage there is bound to be over seven.” 

“And how much did I understand you to say it brought a 
pound?” 

‘That all depends,” answered he. “If you cure it yourself, and 
dry it too much, you lose in weight. If you carry it in a small lot 
to the druggists of Onabasha, probably you will not get over five 
dollars for it.” 

“Five?” It was a startled cry. 

“How much did you expect?” asked the Harvester gently. 

“Uncle Henry said he thought he could get fifty cents a pound 
for all I could find.” 

“If your Uncle Henry has learned at last that ginseng is a 
salable article he should know something about the price also. 
Will you tell me what he said, and how you came to think of 
gathering roots for the market?” 

“There were men talking beneath the trees one Sunday after- 
noon about old times and hunting deer, then they spoke of people 
who made money long ago gathering roots and barks, and they 
mentioned one man who lived by it yet.” 

“Was his name Langston?” 

“Yes, I remember because I liked the name. I was so eager 
to earn something, and I can’t leave here just now because Aunt 
Molly is very ill, so the thought came that possibly I could gather 
stuff worth money, after my work was finished. I went out and 
asked questions. They said nothing brought enough to make it 
pay any one, except this ginseng plant, and the Langston man 
almost had stripped the country. Then uncle said he used to get 
stuff here, so he might have some of that. I asked what it was 
like, so they told me and I hunted until I found that. It seemed 
a quantity to me. Of course I didn’t know it had to be dried. 
Uncle took a root I dug to a store, where they told him that it 
wasn’t much used any more, but they would give him fifty cents 
a pound for it. What makes you think you can get five dollars?” 

“With your permission,” said the Harvester. 

He seated himself on the log, drew from his pocket an old 


BELSHAZZAR’S RECORD POINT 89 


pamphlet, spread it before her, then ran a pencil along the line 
of a list of schedule prices for common drug roots and herbs. Be- 
cause he understood, his eyes were very bright; his voice a trifle 
crisp. A latent anger springing in his breast was a good curb for 
his emotions. He was closely acquainted with all of the druggists 
of Onabasha; he knew that not one of them had offered less than 
standard prices for ginseng. 

“The reason I think so,” he said gently, “is because growing it 
is the largest part of my occupation, while it was a staple with 
my father before me. I am David Langston, of whom you heard 
those men speak. Since I was a very small boy I have lived by 
collecting herbs and roots, and I realize more for ginseng than 
anything else. Very early I tired of hunting other people’s woods 
for herbs, so I began transplanting them to my own. I moved that 
bed out here seven years ago. What you found has grown since 
from roots I overlooked or seeds that fell at that time. Now do 


you think I am enough of an authority to trust my word on the 


subject?” 

There was no change of expression on her white face. 

‘You surely should know,” she said wearily, “and you could 
have no possible object in deceiving me. Please go on.” 

“Any country boy or girl can find ginseng, gather, wash, and 
dry it, and sell for five dollars a pound. I can return yours to- 
morrow, you can cure and take it to a druggist I will name you, 
who will pay that. But if you will allow me to make a suggestion, 
you can get more. Your roots are now on the trays of an evapo- 
rating house. They will dry to the proper degree desired by the 
trade, so that they will not lose an extra ounce in weight; while 
if I send them with my stuff to big wholesale houses I deal with, 
they will be graded with the finest wild ginseng. It is worth more 
than the cultivated so you will be paid closer eight dollars a 
pound for it than five. There is some speculation in it, and the 
market fluctuates: but as a rule, I sell for the highest price the 
drug brings, while at times when the season is very dry, I set my 
own prices. Shall I return yours or may I cure and sell it, bring- 
ing you the money?” 

“How much trouble would that make you?” 


go 2 EOE eH ARV BS! Te 


“None. The work of digging and washing is already finished. 
All that remains is to weigh it and make a memorandum of the 
amount when I sell. I should very much like to do it. It would 
be a comfort to see the money go into your hands. If you are 
afraid to trust me, I will give you the names of several people 
you can ask concerning me the next time you go to the city.” 

She looked at him steadily. 

‘Never mind that,” she said. “But why do you offer to do it 
for a stranger? It must be some trouble, no matter how small 
you represent it to be.” 

“Maybe I am going to pay you eight and sell for ten.” 

“I don’t think you can. Five sounds fabulous to me. I can’t 
believe that. If you wanted to make money you needn’t have told 
me you took it. I never would have known. That isn’t your rea- 
son!” 

‘Possibly I would like to atone for those tears I caused,” said 
the Harvester. 

“Don’t think of that! They are of no consequence to any one.” 

“Don’t search for a reason,” said the Harvester, in his gentlest 
tones. “Forget that feature of the case. Say I’m peculiar, and 
allow me to do it because it would be a pleasure. In close two 
weeks I will bring you the money. Is it a bargain?” 

“Yes, if you care to make it.” 

“I care very much. We will call that settled.” 

“T wish I could tell you what it will mean to me,” said the Girl. 

“Tf you only would,” plead the Harvester. 

‘IT must not burden a stranger with my troubles.” 

“But if it would make the stranger so happy!” 

“That isn’t possible. I must face life and bear what it brings 
me alone.” 

‘Not unless you choose,” said the Harvester. ““That is, if you 
will pardon me, a narrow view of life. It cuts other people out 
of the joy of service. If you can’t tell me, would you trust a very 
lovely and gentle woman I could bring to you?” 

“No more than you. It is my affair; I must work it out myself.” 

“T am very sorry,’ said the Harvester. “I believe you err in that 
decision. ‘Think it over a day or so, and see if two heads are not 


BELSHAZZAR’S RECORD POINT QI 


better than one. You will realize when this ginseng matter is set- 


 tled that you profited by trusting me. The same will hold good 


along other lines, if you only can bring yourself to think so. At 
any rate, try. Telling a trouble makes it lighter. Sympathy should 
help, if nothing can be done. And as for money, I can show you 
how to earn sums at least worth your time, if you have nothing 
else you want to do.” 

The Girl bent toward him. 

“Oh please do tell me!” she cried eagerly. “I’ve tried and tried 
to find some way ever since I have been here, but every one else 
I have met says I can’t; nothing seems to be worth anything. If 
you only would tell me something I could do!” 

“If you will excuse my saying so,” said the Harvester, “it 
appeals to me that ease, not work, is the thing you require. You 
appear extremely worn. Won’t you let me help you find a way 
to a long rest first?” 

“Tmpossible!” cried the Girl. “I know I am white and appear 
ill, but truly I never have been sick in all my life. I have been 
having trouble and working too much, but I'll be better soon. 
Believe me, there is no rest for me now. I must earn the money 
I owe first.’ 

“There is a way, if you care to take it,” said the Harvester. 
“In my work I have become very well acquainted with the chief 
surgeon of the city hospital. Through him I happen to know that 
he has a free bed in a beautiful room, where you could rest until 
you are perfectly strong again, and that room is empty just now. 
When you are well, I will tell you about the work.” 

As she arose the Harvester stood, then tall and straight she 
faced him. 

“Impossible!” she said. “It would be brutal to leave my aunt. 
I cannot pay to rest in a hospital ward, and I will not accept 
charity. If you can put me in the way of earning, even a few cents 
a day, at anything I could do outside the work necessary to earn 
my board here, it would bring me closer to happiness than any- 
thing else on earth.” 

“What I suggest is not impossible,” said the Harvester ear- 
nestly. “If you will go, inside an hour a sweet and gentle lady 


92 THE HARVESTER 


will come for you and take you to ease and perfect rest until you 
are strong again. I will see that your aunt is cared for scrupu- 
lously. I can’t help urging you. It is a crime to talk of work to 
a woman so manifestly worn as you are.” 

“Then we shall not speak of it,” said the Girl wearily. “It is 
time for me to go, anyway. I see you mean to be very kind, and 
while I don’t in the least understand it, I do hope you feel I am 
grateful. If half you say about the ginseng comes true, I can make 
a payment worth while before I had hoped to. I have no words to 
tell you what that will mean to me.” 

“If this debt you speak of were paid, could you rest then?” 

“T could lie down and give up in peace, and [ think I would.” 

“I think you wouldn't,’ said the Harvester, “because you 
wouldn’t be allowed. There are people in these days who make 
a business of securing rest for the tired and over weary. They 
would come and prevent that if you tried it. Please let me make 
another suggestion. If you owe money to some one you feel needs 
it and the debt is preying on you, let’s pay it.” 

He drew a small check-book from his pocket, slipping a pen 
from a band. 

“Tf you will name the amount and give me the address, you 
shall be free to go to the rest I ask for you inside an hour.” 

Then slowly from head to foot she looked at him. 

“Why?” 

‘Because your face and attitude clearly indicate that you are 
over tired. Believe me, you do yourself wrong if you refuse.” 

“In what way would changing creditors rest me?” 

“I thought perhaps you were owing some one who needed the 
money. I am not a rich man, but I have no one save myself to 
provide for and I have funds lying idle that I would be glad 
to use for you. If you make a point of it, when you are rested, 
you can repay me.” 

‘My creditor needs the money, but I should prefer owing him 
rather than a perfect stranger. What you suggest would help 
me—not at all. I must go now.” 

“Very well,” said the Harvester. “If you will tell me whom 
to ask for and where you live, I will come to see you to-morrow 
and bring you some pamphlets. With these and with a little help 





BELSHAZZAR’S RECORD POINT 93 


you soon can earn any amount a girl is likely to owe. It will re- 
quire but a little while. Where can I find you?” 

The Girl hesitated, for the first time a hint of colour flushed 
her cheek. But courage appeared to be her strong point. 

“Do you live in this part of the country?” she asked. 

“T live ten miles from here, east of Onabasha.” 

“Do you know Henry Jameson?” 

“By sight and by reputation.” 

“Did you ever know anything kind or humane of him?” 

“T never did.” 

“My name is Ruth Jameson. At present I am indebted to him 
for the only shelter I have. His wife is ill through overwork and 
worry. I am paying for my bed and what I don’t eat, principally, 
by attempting her work. It scarcely would be fair to Uncle Henry 
to say that I do it. I stagger around as long as I can stand, then 
I sit through his abuse. He is a pleasant man. Please don’t think 
I am telling you this to harrow your sympathy further. ‘The rea- 
son I explain is because I am driven. If I do not, you will mis- 
judge me when I say that I only can see you here. I understand 
what you meant when you said Uncle Henry should have known 
the price of ginseng if he knew it was for sale. He did. He knew 
what he could get for it, and what he meant to pay me. That is 
one of his original methods with a woman. If he thought I could 
earn anything worth while, he would allow me, if I killed myself 
doing it; and then he would take the money by force if necessary. 
So I can meet you here only. I can earn just what I may in secret. 
He buys cattle and horses so he is away from home much of the 
day; when Aunt Molly is comfortable I can have a few hours.” 

“TI understand,” said the Harvester. “But this is an added hard- 
ship. Why do you remain? Why subject yourself to force and 
work too heavy for you?” 

“Because his is the only roof on earth where I feel I can pay 
for all I get. I don’t care to discuss it, I only want you to say you 
understand, if I ask you to bring the pamphlets here and tell me 
how I can earn money.” 

“T do,” said the Harvester earnestly, although his heart was 
hot in protest. “You may be very sure that I shall not misjudge 
you. May I come at two o’clock to-morrow, Miss Jameson?” 


94. THE HARVESTER 


“Tf you will be so kind.” 

The Harvester stepped aside, she passed him and crossing the 
rifled ginseng patch went toward a low brown farmhouse lying 
in an unkept garden, beside a ragged highway. ‘The man sat on 
the log she had vacated, held his head between his hands, trying 
to think, but he could not for big waves of joy that swept over 
him when he realized that at last he had found her, had spoken 
with her, had arranged a meeting for the morrow. 

“Belshazzar,” he said softly, “I wish I could leave you to pro- 
tect her. Every day you prove to me that I need you, but Heaven 
knows her necessity is greater. Bel, she makes my heart ache until 
it feels like jelly. There seems to be only one thing to do. Get that 
fool debt paid like lightning, then lift her out of here quicker than 
that. Now, we will go see Doc, and call off the watch-dogs of the 
law. Ahead of them, aren’t we, Belshazzar? There is a better day 
coming; we feel it in our bones, don’t we, old partner?” 

The Harvester started through the woods on a rush, and as the 
exercise warmed his heart, he grew wonderfully glad. He was so 
jubilant that he felt like crying aloud, shouting for joy, but by 
and by the years of sober repression made their weight felt, so he 
climbed into the wagon and politely requested Betsy to make her 
best time to Onabasha. Betsy had been asked to make haste so 
frequently of late that she at first almost doubted the sanity of 
her master, the law of whose life, until recently, had been to take 
his time. Now he appeared to be in haste every day. She had be- 
come so accustomed to being urged to hurry that she almost had 
developed a gait; so at the Harvester’s suggestion she did her level 
best to Onabasha and the hospital, where she loved to rest near 
the watering tap under a big tree. 

The Harvester went into the office on the run, while his face 
appeared like a materialized embodiment of living joy. Doctor 
Carey turned at his approach, then bounded halfway across the 
room, his hands outstretched. 

“You’ve found her, David!” 

The Harvester grabbed the hand of his friend. He stood pump- 
ing it up and down while he gulped at the lump in his throat, 
and big tears squeezed from his eyes, but he could only nod his 
proud head. 





BELSHAZZAR S RECORD POINT 95 


“Found her!” exulted Doctor Carey. “Really found her! Well 
that’s great! Sit down and tell me, boy! Is she sick, as we feared? 
Did you only see her or did you get to talk with her?” 

“Well sir,” said the Harvester, choking back his emotions, “‘you 
remember that ginseng I told you about getting on the old Jame- 
son place last night. To-day, I learned I'd lost that hand-made 
mattock I use most, so I went back for it, and there she was.” 

“In the country?” 

“Yes sir!” 

“Well why didn’t we think of it before?” 

“T suppose first we would have had to satisfy ourselves that she 
wasn’t in town, anyway.” 

“Sure! That would be the logical way to go at it! And so you 
found her?” 

“Yes sir, I found her! Just Belshazzar and I! I was going along 
on my way to the place, when he ran past me and made a stiff 
point, and as I came up, there she was!” 

“There she was?” 

“Yes sir; there she was!” 

They shook hands again. 

“Then of course you spoke to her.” 

“Yes I spoke to her.” 

“Were you pleased?” 

“With her speech and manner?—yes. But, Doc, if ever a 
woman needed everything on earth!” 

“Well did you get any kind of a start made?” 

“T couldn’t do so very much. I had to go a little slow for fear 
of frightening her, but I tried to get her to come here and she 
won’t until a debt she owes is paid, and she’s in no condition to 
work.” 

“Got any idea how much it is?” 

“No, but it can’t be any large sum. I tried to offer to pay it, 
but she had no hesitation in telling me she preferred owing a man 
she knew to a stranger.” 

“Well if she is so particular, how did she come to tell you first 
thing that she was in debt?” 

The Harvester explained. 


96 THE HARVESTER 


“Oh I see!” said the doctor. “Well you'll have to baby her 
along with the idea that she is earning money and pay her double 
until you get that off your mind, and while you are at it, put in 
your best licks, my boy; perk right up and court her like a house 
afire. Women like it. All of them do. They glory in feeling that a 
man is crazy about them.” 

“Well I’m insane enough over her,” said the Harvester, “but 
I'd hate like the nation for her to know it. Seems as if a woman 
couldn’t respect such an addlepate as I am lately.” 

“Don’t you worry about that,” advised the doctor. “Just you 
make love to her. Go at it in the good old-fashioned way.” 

“But maybe the ‘good old-fashioned way’ isn’t my way.” 

““What’s the difference whose way it is, if it wins?” 

“But Kipling says: ‘Each man makes love his own way!’ ” 

“IT seem to have heard you mention that name before,” said 
the doctor. “Do you regard him as an authority?” 

“T do!” said the Harvester. “Especially when he advises me 
after my own heart and reason. Miss Jameson is not a silly girl. 
She’s a woman, of twenty-four at least. I don’t want her to care 
for a trick or a pretence. I do want her to love me. Not that I 
am worth her attention, but because she needs some strong man 
fearfully, while I am ready and more ‘willing’ than the original 
Barkis. But, like him, I have to let her know it in my way, and 
court her according to the promptings of my heart.” 

“You deceive yourself!’ said the doctor flatly. “That’s all 
bosh! Your tongue says it for the satisfaction of your ears, and 
it does sound well. You will court her according to your ideas 
of the conventions, as you understand them, and strictly in ac- 
cordance with what you consider the respect due her. If you had 
followed the thing you call the ‘promptings of your heart,’ you 
would have picked her up by main force and brought her to my 
best ward, instead of merely suggesting it and giving up when 
she said no. If you had followed your heart, you would have 
choked the name and amount out of her and paid that devilish 
debt. You walk away in a case like that; then have the nerve to 
come here and prate to me about following your heart. I'll wager 
my last dollar your heart is sore because you were not allowed 





BELSHAZZAR’S RECORD POINT 97 


to help her; but on the proposition that you followed its prompt- 

ings I wouldn’t stake a penny. That’s all tommy-rot!” 
_ “Tt is,’ agreed the Harvester. “Utter! But what can a man 
do?” 
“J don’t know what you can do! I’d have paid that debt and 
_ brought her to the hospital.” 
_ “Pll go and ask Mrs. Carey about your courtship. I want her 
help on this, anyway. I can pick up Miss Jameson and bring 
her here if any man can, but she is nursing a sick woman who 
depends solely on her for care. She is above average size, and she 
has a very decided mind of her own. I don’t think you would use 
- force and do what you think best for her, if you were in my place. 
You would wait until you understood the situation better, and 
_ knew that what you did was for the best, ultimately.” 
“T don’t know whether I would or not. One thing is sure: ?’'m 
_ mighty glad you have found her. May I tell my wife?” 
“Please do! And ask her if I may depend on her if I need a 
- woman’s help. Now I'll call off the valiant police and go home 
and take a good, sound sleep. Haven’t had much since I first saw 
et: 
So Betsy trotted down the valley, up the embankment, crossed 
the railroad, over the levee, across Singing Water, and up the hill 
to the cabin. As they passed it, the Harvester jumped from the 
wagon, tossed the hitching strap to Belshazzar, and entered. He 
_ walked straight to her door, unlocked it, and uncovering, went 
inside. Slowly he passed from piece to piece of the furniture he 
had made for her, and then surveyed the walls and floor. 

“Tt isn’t half good enough,” he said, “but it will have to answer 
until I can do better. Surely she will know I tried and care for 
that, anyway. I wonder how long it will take me to get her here. 
Oh, if I only could know she was comfortable and happy! Happy! 
She doesn’t appear as if she ever heard that word. Well this will 
be a good place to teach her. I’ve always enjoyed myself here. 
I’m going to have faith that I can win her and make her happy 
also. When I go to the stable to do my work for the night if I 
could know she was in this cabin and glad of it, and if I could 
hear her down here singing like a happy care-free girl, I'd scarcely 
be able to endure the joy of it.” 


CHAPTER IX 


The Harvester Goes Courting 


“SHE is on Henry Jameson’s farm, four miles west of Onabasha,” 
said the Harvester, as he opened his eyes the following morning, 
to lay a caressing hand on Belshazzar’s head. “At two o’clock we 
are going to see her, and we are going to prolong the visit to the 
ultimate limit, so we should make things count here before we 
start.” 

He worked in a manner that accomplished much. There 
seemed no end to his energy that morning. Despatching the 
usual routine, he ate his lunch and hitched Betsy to the wagon. 
When it neared time to start he dressed carefully. He stood before 
his bookcase and selected several pamphlets published by the 
Department of Agriculture. He went to his beds and gathered 
a large armload of plants. Then he was ready to make his first 
trip to see the Dream Girl, but it never occurred to him that he 
was going courting. 

He had decided fully that there would be no use to try to 
make love to a girl manifestly so ill and in trouble. The first 
thing, it appeared to him, was to dispel the depression, improve 
the health, and then do the love making. So, in the most business- 
like manner possible, without a shade of embarrassment, the Har- 
vester took his herbs and books and started for the Jameson 
woods. At times as he drove along he espied something that he 
used growing beside the road and stopped to secure a specimen. 

He reached the ginseng bed at half-past one. He was pur- 


THE HARVESTER GOES COURTING 99 


posely early. He laid down his books and plants, rolling the log 
on which she sat the day before to a more shaded location, where 
a big tree would serve for a back rest. He pulled away brush and 
windfalls, heaped dry brown leaves, and tramped them down 
for her feet. He laid the books on the log, the armload of plants 
beside them, then went to the river to wash his soiled hands. 
Belshazzar’s short bark told him the Girl was coming. Between 


: the trees he saw the dog race to meet her while she bent to stroke 
his head. She wore the same dress, appearing even paler and 
thinner. The Harvester hurried up the bank, wiping his hands 





on his handkerchief. 

“Glad to see you!” he greeted her casually. “I’ve fixed you 
a seat with a back rest to-day. Don’t be frightened at the stack 
of herbs. You needn’t gather all of those. They are only sugges- 
tions. They are just common roadside plants that have some 


- medicinal value and are worth collecting. Please try my daven- 


ort.” 
“Thank you!” she said as she dropped on the log, leaning her 


head against the tree. It seemed as if her eyes closed a few seconds 
in spite of her; while they were shut the Harvester looked stead- 
_ ily and intently on a face of exquisite beauty, but so marred by 


pallor and lines of care that search was required to recognize just 
how handsome she was: if he had not seen her in perfection in 
the dream the Harvester might have missed glorious possibilities. 
To bring back that vision would be a task worth while was his 
thought. With the first faint quiver of an eyelash the Harvester 
took a few steps, bending over a plant, while the Girl’s eyes fol- 
lowed him. 

He appeared so tall and strong, so bronzed by summer sun 
and wind, his face so keen and intense, that swift fear caught her 
heart. Why was he there? Why should he take so much trouble 
for her? With difficulty she restrained herself from springing up 
and running away. Turning with the plant in his hand, the Har- 
vester saw the panic in her eyes, and it troubled his heart. For 
an instant he was bewildered, then he understood. 

“I don’t want you to work when you are not able,” he said 
in his most matter-of-fact voice, “but if you still think that you 


100 THE HARVESTER 


are, I'll be very glad. I need help just now, more than I can 
tell you, for there seem to be so few people who can be trusted. 
Gathering stuff for drugs is very serious business. You see, I’ve 
a reputation to sustain with some of the biggest laboratories in, 
the country, not to mention the fact that I sometimes try com- 
pounding a new remedy for some common complaint myself. I 
rather take pride in the fact that my stuff goes in so fresh and 
clean that I always get anywhere from three to ten cents a pound 
above the listed prices for it. I want that money, but I want 
an unbroken record for doing a job right and being square and 
careful, much more.” 

He thought the appearance of fright was fading, while a tinge 
of interest took its place. She was looking straight at him. As he 
talked he could see her summoning her tired forces to understand 
and follow him, so he continued: “One would think that as 
medicines are required in cases of life and death, collectors would 
use extreme caution, but some of them are criminally careless, 
It’s a common thing to gather almost any fern for male fern; to 
throw in anything that will increase weight, to wash imperfectly, 
and commit many other sins that lie with the collector; beyond 
that I don’t like to think. I suppose there are men who deliber- 
ately adulterate pure stuff to make it go farther, but when it 
comes to drugs, I scarcely can speak of it calmly. I like to do 
a thing right. I raise most of my plants, bushes, and herbs. I 
gather exactly in season, wash carefully if water dare be used, 
clean them otherwise if not, and dry them by a hot air system 
in an evaporator I built purposely. Each package I put up is pure 
stuff, clean, properly dried, and fresh. If I caught any man in the 
act of adulterating any of it ’'m afraid he would get hurt badly 
—and usually I am a peaceable man. I am explaining this to 
show how very careful you must be to keep things separate, to 
collect the right plants if you are going to sell stuff to me. I am 
extremely particular.” 

The Girl was leaning toward him, watching his face, while 
hers was slowly changing. She was deeply interested, much im- 
pressed, and more at ease. When the Harvester saw he had talked 


THE HARVESTER GOES COURTING IOI 


her into confidence he crossed the leaves, seated himself on the 


_ log beside her, picked up the books and opened one. 


“Oh I will be careful,” said the Girl. “If you will trust me to 
collect for you, I will undertake only what I am sure I know, and 
Pll do exactly as you tell me.” 

“There are a dozen things that bring a price ranging from 


_ three to fifteen cents a pound, that are in season just now. I sup- 
_ pose you would like to begin on some common, easy things, that 


i 


will bring the most money.” 

Without a breath of hesitation she answered, “I will com- 
‘mence on whatever you need most to have.” 

The heart of the Harvester gave a leap that almost choked 


_ him, for he was vividly conscious of a broken shoe she was hiding 
_ beneath her skirts. He wanted to say “thank you,’ but he was 


: 


circle of green felt leaves 





afraid to, so he turned the leaves of the book. 

“J am working now on mullein,” he said. 

“Oh I know mullein,” she cried, with almost a hint of anima- 
tion in her voice. “The tall, yellow flower stem rising from a 


}>? 


“Good!” said the Harvester. “What a pretty way to describe 


_ it! Do you know any more plants?” 


“Only a few! I had a high-school course in botany, but it was 


all about flower and leaf formation, nothing at all of what any- 


thing was good for. I also learned a few, drawing them for 
leather embroidery designs.” 
“Took here!” cried the Harvester. “I came with an armload of 


_ herbs and expected to tell you all about foxglove, mullein, yarrow, 


jimson, purple thorn apple, blessed thistle, hemlock, hoarhound, 
lobelia, and everything in season now; but if you already have a 
profession, why do you attempt a new one? Why don’t you go on 
drawing? I never saw anything so stupid as most of the designs 


_ from nature book covers and decorations, leather work and pot- 


tery. They are the same old subjects worked over and over. If 


- you can draw enough to make original copies, I can furnish you 


with flowers, vines, birds, and insects, new, unused, and of ex- 
quisite beauty, for every month in the year. I’ve looked into the 
matter a little, because I am rather handy with a knife, so I carve 


102 THE HARVESTER 


candlesticks from suitable pieces of wood. I always have trouble 
getting my designs copied; securing something new and unusual, 
never! If you can draw only well enough to reproduce what you 
see, gathering drugs is too slow and tiresome. What you want to 
do is to reproduce the subjects I will bring, then Pll buy what I 
want in my work, and sell the remainder at the arts and crafts 
stores for you. Or I can find out what they pay for such designs 
at potteries and ceramic factories. You have no time to spend on 
herbs, when you are in the woods, if you can draw.” 

‘I am surely in the woods,” said the Girl, “‘and I know I can 
copy correctly. I often made designs for embroidery and leather 
for the shop mother and I worked for in Chicago.” 

“Won't they buy them of you now?” 

“Undoubtedly.” 

“Do they pay anything worth while?” 

“I don’t know how their prices compare with others. One 
place was all I worked for. I think they pay what is fair.” 

‘We will find out,” said the Harvester promptly. 

“I—I don’t think you need waste the time,” faltered the Girl. 
‘IT had better gather the plants for a while at least.” 

“Collecting crude drug material is not easy,” said the Har- 
vester. “Drawing may not be either, but at least you could sit 
while you work; while it would bring you more money. Besides, 
I very much want a moth copied for a candlestick I am carving. 
Won’t you draw that for me? I have some pupz cases and the 
moths will be out any day now. If I’d bring you one, wouldn’t 
you make a copy?” 

The Girl gripped her hands and stared straight ahead of her 
for a second, then she turned to him. 

“Td like to,” she said, “but I have nothing to work with. In 
Chicago they furnished my material at the shop, I drew the de- 
sign and was paid for the pattern. I didn’t know there would be 
a chance for anything like that here. I haven’t even proper 
pencils.” 

‘Then the way for you to do this is to strip the first mullein 
plants you see of the petals. I will pay you seventy-five cents a 





THE HARVESTER GOES COURTING 103 


pound for them. By the time you gather a few pounds I can have 
material you need for drawing here and you can go to work on 
whatever flowers, vines, and things you can find in the woods, 
with no thanks to any one.” 

“T can’t see that,” said the Girl. “It would appear to me that 
I would be under more obligations than I could repay, and to a 
stranger.” 

“T figure it this way,” said the Harvester, watching nervously. 
“I can sell at good prices all the mullein flowers I can secure. 
You collect for me, I buy them. You can use drawing tools; I get 
them for you, and you pay me with the mullein or out of the 
ginseng money I owe you. You already have that coming, so it’s 
just as much yours as it will be ten days from now. You needn’t 
hesitate a second about drawing on it, because I am in a hurry 
for the moth pattern. I find time to carve only at night, you see. 
As for being under obligations to a stranger, in the first place all 
the debt would be on my side. I’d get the drugs and the pattern I 
want; in the second place, I positively and emphatically refuse to 
be a stranger. It would be so much better to be mutual helpers 
and friends of the kind worth having; so the sooner we begin, the 
sooner we can work together to good advantage. Get that stran- 
ger idea out of your head right now, and replace it with thoughts 
of a new friend, who is willing’”’—the Harvester detected panic in 
her eyes and ended casually—“‘to enter a partnership that will be 
of benefit to both of us. Partners can’t be strangers, you know,” 
he finished. 

“T don’t know what to think,” said the Girl. 

‘Never bother your head with thinking,” advised the Har- 
vester with an air of large wisdom. “It is unprofitable and very 
tiring. Any one can see that you are too weary now. Don’t dream 
of such a foolish thing as thinking. Don’t worry over motives and 
obligations. Say to yourself: ‘I’ll enter this partnership and if it 
brings me anything good, I’m that much ahead. If it fails, I have 
lost nothing.’ That’s the way I look at it.” 

Then before she could answer he continued: “Now I want all 
the mullein bloom I can get. You'll see the yellow heads every- 


IO4 THE HARVESTER 


where. Strip the petals and bring them here, and I’ll come for 
them every day. They must go on the trays as fresh as possible. 
On your part, we will make out the order now.” 

He took a pencil and notebook from his pocket. 

“You want drawing pencils and brushes; how many, what 
make and size?” 

The Girl hesitated for a moment as if struggling to decide what 
to do; then she named the articles. 

“And paper?” 

He wrote that down, asking if there were more. 

“I think,” he said, ‘that I can fill this order in Onabasha. The 
art stores should keep these things. And shouldn’t you have water- 
colour paper and some paint?” 

Then there was a flash across the white face. 

“Oh, if I only could!” she cried. “All my life I have been crazy 
for a box of colour, but I never could afford it, so of course, I 
can’t now. But if this splendid plan works, and I can earn what 
I owe, then maybe I can.”’ 

“Well this ‘splendid plan’ is going to ‘work,’ don’t you bother 
about that,” said the Harvester. “It has begun working right 
now. Don’t worry a minute. After things have gone wrong for a 
certain length of time, they always veer and go right a while as 
compensation. Don’t think of anything save that you are at the 
turning. Since it is all settled that we are to be partners, would 
you name me the figures of the debt that is worrying you? Don’t, 
if you mind. I merely thought perhaps we could get along better 
if I knew. Is it—say five hundred dollars?” 

“Oh dear no!” cried the Girl in a panic. “I never could face 
that! It is not quite one hundred, and that seems big as a moun- 
tain to me.” | 

“Forget it!” he cried. “The ginseng will pay more than half; 
that I know. I can bring you the cash in a little over a week.” 

She started to speak, hesitated, and at last turned to him. 

“Would you mind,” she said, “if I asked you to keep it until 
I can find a way to go to town? It’s too far to walk and I don’t 
know how to send it. Would I dare put it in a letter?” 

“Never!” said the Harvester. “You want a draft. That money 





| 
| 
| 


THE HARVESTER GOES COURTING 105 


will be too precious to run any risks. Pll bring it to you and you 
can write a note and explain to whom you want it paid, then I'll 
take it to the bank for you and get your draft. Then you can 
write a letter, and half your worry will be over safely.” 

“Tt must be done in a sure way,” said the Girl. “If I knew I 
had the money to pay that much on what I owe, and then lost it, 
I simply could not endure it. I would lie down and give up as 
Aunt Molly has.” 

“Forget that too!” said the Harvester. “Wipe out all the past 
that has pain in it. The future is going to be beautifully bright. 
That little bird on the bush there just told me so, and you are 
always safe when you trust the feathered folk. If you are going to 
live in the country any length of time, you must know them, for 
they will become a great comfort. Are you planning to be here 
long?” 

“T have no plans. After what I saw Chicago do to my mother 
I would rather finish life in the open than return to the city. It is 
horrible here, but at least I’m not hungry, and not afraid—all the 
time.” 

“Gracious Heaven!” cried the Harvester. “Do you mean to say 
that you are afraid any part of the time? Would you kindly tell 
me of whom, and why?” 

“You should know without being told that when a woman 
born and reared in a city, and all her life confined there, steps 
into the woods for the first time, she’s bound to be afraid. ‘The 
past few weeks constitute my entire experience with the country, 
and I’m in mortal fear that snakes will drop from trees and 
bushes or spring from the ground. Some places I think I’m sink- 
ing, and whenever a bush catches my skirts it seems as if some- 
thing dreadful is reaching up for me; there is a possibility of 
horror lurking behind every tree and 41 

“Stop!? cried the Harvester. “I can’t endure it! Do you mean 
to tell me that you are afraid here and now?” 

“Ves,” she said. “It almost makes me ill to sit on this log with- 
out taking a stick and poking all around it first. Every minute I 
think something is going to strike me in the back or drop on my 
head.” 





106 THE HARVESTER 


‘“‘Am I one of the things you fear?” 

“Why shouldn’t you be?’ she answered. “What do I know of 
you or your motives or why you are here?” 

“IT have had no experience with the atmosphere that breeds 
such an attitude in a girl.” 

“That is a thing for which to thank Heaven. Undoubtedly it 
has been gracious to you. My life has been different.” 

“Yet in mortal terror of the woods, and probably equal fear of 
me, you are here and asking for work that will keep you here.” 

“J would go through tortures for the money I owe. After that 
debt is paid ge 

She threw out her hands in a hopeless gesture. The Harvester 
drew forth a roll of bills and tossed them into her lap. 

“For the love of mercy take what you need and pay it,” he 
said. ““Then get a floor under your feet, and try, I beg of you, try 
to force yourself to have confidence in me, until I do something 
that gives you the least reason for distrusting me.” 

She picked up the money, giving it a contemptuous whirl that 
landed it at his feet. 

“What greater cause of distrust could I have by any possibility 
than just that?” she asked. 

‘The Harvester arose hastily; taking several steps, he stood with 
folded arms, his back turned. The Girl sat watching him with 
wide eyes, the dull blue plain in their dusky depths. When he did 
not speak, she grew restless. At last she slowly arose and circling 
him looked into his face. It was convulsed with a struggle in 
which love and patience fought for supremacy over honest anger. 
As he saw her so close, his lips drew apart, while his breath came 
deeply, but he did not speak. He merely stood and looked at her, 
and looked; while she gazed at him as if fascinated, but un- 
comprehending. 

“Ruth!” 

The Girl shivered and became paler. 

“Is that your uncle?” asked the Harvester. 

She nodded. 

“Will you come to-morrow for your drawing materials?” 

ty Ba 








THE HARVESTER GOES COURTING 107 


“Will you try to believe that there is absolutely nothing, either 
underfoot or overhead, that will harm you?” 

“Wes? 

“Will you try to think that I am not a menace to public safety, 
and that I would do much to help you, merely because I would 
be glad to be of service?” 

“Ves,” 

“Will you try to cultivate the idea that there is nothing in all 
this world that would hurt you purposely?” 

“Ruth!” came a cry in gruff man-tones, keyed in deep anger. 

“That sounds like it!”? said the Girl, and catching up her skirts 
she ran through the woods, taking a different route toward the 
house. 

The Harvester sat on the log and tried to think; but there are 
times when the numbed brain refuses to work, so he really sat 
and suffered. Belshazzar whimpered, licking his hands, so at last 
the man arose and went with the dog to the wagon. As they came 
through Onabasha, Betsy turned at the hospital corner, but the 
Harvester pulled her around and drove toward the country. “Not 
to-day, Betsy! I can’t face my friends now. Someway I am mak- 
ing an awful fist of things. Everything I do is wrong. She no more 
trusts me than you would a rattlesnake, Belshazzar; while from 
all appearance she takes me to be almost as deadly. What must 
have been her experiences in life to ingrain fear and distrust in 
her soul at that rate? I always knew I was not handsome, but I 
never before regarded my appearance as alarming. And I ‘fixed 
up, too!” 

The Harvester grinned a queer little twist of a grin that pulled 
and distorted his strained face. ‘““Might as well have gone with a 
week’s beard, a soiled shirt, and a leer! And I’ve always been as 
decent as I knew! What’s the reward for clean living anyway, if 
the girl you love strikes you like that?” 

Belshazzar reached across and kissed him. ‘The Harvester put 
his arm around the dog. In the man’s disappointment and heart 
hunger he leaned his head against the beast and said: “I’ve al- 
ways got you to love and protect me, anyway, Belshazzar. Maybe 
the man who said a dog was a man’s best friend was right. You 


108 THE HARVESTER 


always trusted me, didn’t you, Bel? And you never regretted it 
but once, and that wasn’t my fault. I never did it! If I did, I’m 
getting good and well paid for it. I’d rather be kicked until all the 
ribs of one side are broken, Bel, than to swallow the dose she just 
handed me. I tell you it was bitter, lad! What am I going to do? 
Can’t you help me, Bel?” 

Belshazzar quivered in anxiety to offer the comfort he could 
not speak. 

“Of course you are right! You always are, Bel!” said the Har- 
vester. “I know what you are trying to tell me. Sure enough, she 
didn’t have any dream. I am afraid she had the bitterest reality. 
She hasn’t been loving a vision of me, working and searching for 
me, and I don’t mean to her what she does to me. Of course I 
see that I must be patient and bide my time. If there is anything 
in ‘like begetting like’ she is bound to care for me some day, for 
I love her past all expression, and for all she feels I might as well 
save my breath. But she has got to awake some day, Bel. She can 
make up her mind to that. She can’t see ‘why.’ Over and over! 
I wonder what she would think if I’d up and tell her ‘why’ with 
no frills. She will drive me to it some day, then probably the 
shock will finish her. I wonder if Doc was only fooling or if he 
really would do what he said. It might wake her up, anyway, but 
I’m dubious as to the result. How Uncle Henry can roar! He 
sounded like a fog horn. Id love to try my muscle on a man like 
that. No wonder she is afraid of him, if she is of me. Afraid! 
Well of all things I ever did expect, Belshazzar, that is the limit.” 


—————e 


CU AR FGas oe 


The Chime of the Blue Bells 


Tue Harvester finished his evening work, then went to examine 
the cocoons. Many of the moths had emerged and flown, but the 
luna cases remained in the bottom of the box. As he stood looking 
at them one moved, Smilingly he said: 

“T’d give something if you would come out and be ready to 
work on by to-morrow afternoon. Possibly you would so interest 
her that she would forget her fear of me. Id like to take you 
along, because she might care for you, and I do need the pattern 
for my candlestick. Believe I’ll lay you in a warmer place.” 

The first thing the following morning the Harvester looked to 
find the open cocoon, while the wet moth clung by its feet to a 
twig he had placed for it. 

“Luck is with me!” he exulted. “I'll carry you to her, being 
mighty careful what I say, then maybe she will forget about the 
fear.” 

All forenoon he cut and spread boneset, senna, and hemlock on 
the trays to dry. At noon he put on a fresh outfit, ate a hasty 
lunch, then drove to Onabasha. He carried the moth in a box, 
and when starting picked up a rake. He went to an art store, 
buying the pencils and paper she had ordered. He wanted to pur- 
chase everything he saw for her, but he was fast learning a lesson 
of deep caution. If he took more than she specified, she would 
worry over paying, then if he refused to accept money, she would 
put that everlasting “why” again. The water-colour paper and 


IIo THE HARVESTER 


paint he could not forego. He could make a desire to have the 
moth coloured explain those, he thought. 

Then he went to a furniture store and bought several articles, 
and forgetting his law against haste, he drove Betsy full speed to 
the river. He was rather heavily ladened as he went up the bank 
at one o’clock. There was an hour. He rolled away the log, raked 
together and removed the leaves to the ground. He tramped the 
earth level then spread a large cheap porch rug. On this he 
opened and placed a little folding table and chair. On the table 
he spread the pencils, paper, colour box and brushes, going to the 
river to fill the water cup. Then he sat on the log he had rolled 
to one side and waited. After two hours he arose and crept as 
close the house as he could through the woods, but he could not 
secure a glimpse of the Girl. He went back and waited an hour 
more, then undid his work and removed it. When he came to the 
moth his face was very grim as he lifted the twig and helped the 
beautiful creature to climb on a limb. “You'll be ready to fly in a 
few hours,” he said. “If I keep you in a box you will ruin your 
wings and be no suitable subject, and put you in a cyanide jar I 
will not. I am hurt too badly myself. I wonder if what Doc said 
was the right way! It’s certainly a temptation.” 

Then he drove away; again Betsy veered at the hospital; once 
more the Harvester explained to her that he did not want to see 
the doctor. That evening and the following forenoon were diffi- 
cult, but the Harvester lived through them, and in the afternoon 
went back to the woods, spread his rug, and set up the table. 
Only one streak of luck brightened the gloom in his heart. A 
yellow emperor had emerged in the night; now it occupied the 
place of yesterday’s luna. She never need know this was not the 
one he wanted, and it would make an excuse for the colour box. 

He was watching intently, so he saw her coming a long way 
off. He noticed that she looked neither right nor left, but came 
straight as if walking a bridge. As she reached the place she 
glanced hastily around, then at him. The Harvester forgave her 
everything as he saw the look of relief with which she stepped 
upon the carpet. Then she turned to him. 

“I won’t have to ask ‘why’ this time,” she said. “I know that 


THE GCHIME OF THE BLUE BELLS itil 


you did it because I was baby enough to tell what a coward I am. 
I’m sure you can’t afford it; I know you shouldn’t have done it, 
but oh, what a comfort! If you will promise never to do such an 
expensive, foolish, kind thing again, I’ll say thank you this time. 
I couldn’t come yesterday, because Aunt Molly was worse so 
Uncle Henry was at home all day.” 

“T supposed it was something like that,” said the Harvester. 

She advanced, handing him the roll of bills. 

“T had a feeling you would be reckless,” she said. “I saw it in 
your face, so I came back as soon as I could steal away, and sure 
enough, there lay your money, the books, and everything. I hid 
them in the thicket, so they will be all right. I’ve almost prayed 
it wouldn’t rain. I didn’t dare carry them to the house. Please 
take the money. I haven’t time to argue about it or strength, but 
of course I can’t possibly use it unless I earn it. I’m so anxious to 
see the pencils and paper.” 

The Harvester thrust the money into his pocket. The Girl went 
to the table, opened and spread the paper, then took out the 
pencils. 

“Js my subject in here?” She touched the colour box. 

“No, the other.” 

“Ts it alive? May I open it?” 

“We will be very careful at first,” said the Harvester. “It only 
left its case in the night so it may fly. When the weather is warm 
the wings develop rapidly. Perhaps if I remove the lid it 

He took off the cover, exposing a moth, its lovely, pale yellow 
wings, flecked with heliotrope, outspread as it clung to a twig in 
the box. The Girl leaned forward. 

‘What is it?” she asked. 

“One of the big night moths that emerge and fly a few hours 
in June.” 

“Ts this what you want for your candlestick?” 

“If I can’t do better. There is one other I prefer, but it may 
not come at a time that you can get it right.” 

“What do you mean by ‘right?’ ” 

“So that you can copy it before it wants to fly.” 

“Why don’t you chloroform and pin it until I am ready?” 








ri2 THE HARVESTER 


“T am not in the business of killing and impaling exquisite 
creatures like that.” 

“Do you mean that if I can’t draw it when it is just right you 
will let it go?” 

Pray? 

“Why?” 

“T told you why.” 

“TI know you said you were not in the business, but why 
wouldn’t you take only one you really wanted to use?” 

“T would be afraid,” replied the Harvester. 

“Afraid? You!” | 

“I must have a mighty good reason before I kill,” said the 
man. “I cannot give life; I have no right to take it away. I will 
let my statement stand. I am afraid.” 

“Of what, please?” 

“An indefinable something that follows me and makes me 
suffer if I am wantonly cruel.” 

“Is there any particular pose in which you want this bird 
placed?” 

“Allow me to present you to the yellow emperor, known in the 
books as eacles Ln Per ass. he said. “I want naa as he clings 
naturally and life size.’ 

She took up a pencil. 

“Tf you don’t mind,” said the Harvester, “would you draw on 
this other paper? I very much want the colour, also, and you can 
use it on this. I brought a box along. Pll bring you water. I had 
it all ready yesterday.” 

“Did you have this same moth?” 

‘‘No, I had another.” 

“Did you have the one you wanted most?” 

““Yes—but it’s no difference.” 

‘And you let it go because I was not here?” 

“No. It went on account of exquisite beauty. If kept in con- 
finement it would struggle and break its wings. You see, that one 
was a delicate green, where this is yellow, plain pale blue green, 
with a lavender rib here, and long curled trailers edged with pale 
yellow, and eye spots rimmed with red and black.” 


THE CHIME’ OF THE BLUE BELLS II3 


As the Harvester talked he indicated the points of difference 
with a pencil he had picked up; now he laid it down and re- 
treated beyond the rug. 

“T see,” said the Girl. “And this is colour?” 

“A few colours, rather,” said the Harvester. “I selected enough 
to fill the box, with the help of the clerk who sold them to me. If 
they are not right, I have permission to exchange them for any- 
thing you want.” 

With eager fingers she opened the box, bending over it a face 
‘filled with interest. 

“Oh how I’ve always wanted this! I scarcely can wait to try it. 
I do hope I can have it for my own. Was it expensive?” 

“No. Very cheap!” said the Harvester. “The paper isn’t worth 
mentioning. The little tin box was only a few cents, and the paints 
differ according to colour. I was surprised that the outfit was so 
inexpensive.” 

A skeptical smile wavered on the Girl’s face as she drew her 
slender fingers across the trays of bright colour. 

“If one dared accept your word, you really would be a com- 
fort,” she said, as she resolutely closed the box, pushed it away, 
and picked up a pencil. 

“Tf you will take the trouble to inquire at the banks, post office, 
express office, hospital or of any druggist in Onabasha, you will 
find that my word is exactly as good as my money, and taken 
quite as readily.” 

“T didn’t say I doubted you. I have no right to do that until I 
feel you deceive me. What I said was ‘dared accept,’ which 
means I must not, because I have no right. But you make one 
wonder what you would do if you were coaxed for things and led 
by insinuations.”’ 

“T can tell you that,” said the Harvester. “It would depend 
altogether on who wanted anything of me and what they asked. 
It would be unnecessary for you to coax or insinuate, because P’d 
see what you needed and have it at hand.” 

The Girl looked at him wonderingly. 

“Now don’t spring your recurrent ‘why’ on me,” said the Har- 
vester. “T’ll tell you ‘why’ some of these days. Just now answer 


Ii4 THE HARVESTER 


me this question: do you want me to remain here or leave until 
you finish? Which way would you be least afraid?” 

“IT am not at all afraid on the rug and with my work,” she said. 
“If you want to hunt ginseng go by all means.” 

“I don’t want to hunt anything,” said the Harvester. “But if 
you are more comfortable with me away, I'll be glad to go. I'll 
leave the dog with you.” 

He gave a short whistle which brought Belshazzar bounding to 
him. ‘The Harvester stepped to the Girl’s side, and dropping on 
one knee, he drew his hand across the rug close to her skirts. 

“Right here, Belshazzar,” he said. “Watch! You are on guard, 
Bel.” 

“Well of all names for a dog!” exclaimed the Girl. “Why did 
you select that?” 

‘My mother named my first dog Belshazzar, and taught me 
why; so each of the three I’ve owned since have been christened 
the same. It means ‘to protect’ and that is the office all of them 
perform; this one especially has filled it admirably. Once I failed 
him, but he never has gone back on me. You see he is not a 
particle afraid of me. Every step I take, he is at my heels.” 

“So was Bill Sikes’ dog, if I remember.” 

The Harvester laughed. 

“Bel,” he said, “if you could speak you’d say that was an ugly 
one, wouldn’t you?” 

The dog sprang up and kissed the face of the man, rubbing a 
loving head against his breast. 

“Thank you!” said the Harvester. “Now lie down and protect 
this woman as carefully as you ever watched in your life. And in- 
cidentally, Bel, tell her that she can’t exterminate me more than 
once a day, so the performance is accomplished for the present. I 
refuse to be a willing sacrifice. ‘So was Bill Sikes’ dog!’ What do 
you think of that, Bel?” 

The Harvester arose and turned to go. 

‘What if this thing attempts to fly?” she asked. 

“Your pardon,” said the Harvester. “If the emperor moves, 
slide the lid over the box a few seconds, until he settles and clings 


THE CHIME OF THE BLUE BELLS II5 


quietly again; then slowly draw it away. If you are careful not to 
jar the table heavily he will not go for hours yeti? 
Again he turned. 
“Tf there is no danger, why do you leave the dog?” 
“For company,” said the Harvester. “I thought you would pre- 
fer an animal you are not afraid of to a man you are. But let me 
tell you there is no necessity for either. I know a woman who goes 
alone and unafraid through every foot of woods in this part of 
the country. She has climbed, crept, waded, and she tells me she 
never saw but two venomous snakes this side of Michigan. Noth- 
ing ever dropped on her or sprang at her. She feels as secure in 
the woods as she does at home.” 
“Tsn’t she afraid of snakes?” 
“She dislikes snakes, but she is not afraid or she would not risk 
encountering them daily.” 
“Do you ever find any?” 
“Harmless little ones, often. That is, Bel does. He is always 
nosing for them, because he understands that I work in the earth. 
I think I have encountered three dangerous ones in my life. I 
will guarantee you will not find one in these woods. They are too 
open and too much cleared.” 
“Then why leave the dog?” 
“T thought,” said the Harvester patiently, “that your uncle 
“might have turned in some of his cattle, or if pigs came here the 
dog would chase them away.” 
She looked at him with utter panic in her face. 
“T am far more afraid of a cow than a snake!” she cried. “It is 
so much bigger!” 
“How did you ever come into these woods alone far enough to 
find the ginseng?” asked the Harvester. “Answer me that!” 
“T wore Uncle Henry’s top boots and carried a rake, and I 
suffered tortures,” she replied. 
“But you hunted until you found what you wanted, and came 
again to keep watch on it?” 
“T was driven—simply forced. There’s no use to discuss it!” 
“Well thank the Lord for one thing,” said the Harvester. 





116 THE HARVESTER 


“You didn’t appear half so terrified at the sight of me as you did 
at the mere mention of a cow. I have risen inestimably in my 
own self-respect. Belshazzar, you may pursue the elusive chip- 
munk. I am going to guard this woman myself, and please, kind 
fates, send a ferocious cow this way, in order that I may prove - 
my valour.” | 

The Girl’s face flushed slightly, but she could not restrain a_ 
laugh. That was more than the Harvester hoped for. He went 
beyond the edge of the rug, sitting on the leaves under a tree. She ~ 
bent over her work while only bird or insect notes or occasionally — 
Belshazzar’s excited bark broke the silence. The Harvester 
stretched on the ground, his eyes on the Girl. Intently he watched _ 
every movement. If a squirrel barked she gave a nervous start, — 
so precipitate it seemed as if it must hurt. If a windfall came rat- 
tling down she appeared ready to fly in headlong terror in any 
direction. At last she dropped her pencil, looking at him help- 
lessly. 

‘What is it?’ he asked. 

“The silence and these awful crashes when one doesn’t know 
what is coming,” she said. 

“Will it bother you if I talk? Perhaps the sound of my voice 
will help?” | 

“T am accustomed to working while people talk; it will be a 
comfort. I may be able to follow you, so that will prevent me 
from thinking. There are dreadful things in my mind when they 
are not driven out. Please talk! ‘Tell me about the herbs you | 
gathered this morning.” 

The Harvester gave the Girl one long look as she bent over her 
work. He was vividly conscious of the graceful curves of her lithe 
figure, the coil of dark, silky hair, softly waving around her tem- | 
ples and neck. When her eyes turned in his direction he knew that 
it was only the white, drawn face that restrained him. He was 
almost forced to tell her how he loved and longed for her; about 
the home he had prepared; of a thousand personal interests. In- 
stead, he took a firm grip and said casually: “Foxglove harvest is | 
over, This plant has to be taken when the leaves are in second 
year growth and at bloom time. I have stripped my mullein beds 








poe Cie Orvis RLGE BELLS’ d17 


of both leaves and flowers. I finished a week ago. Beyond lies a 
stretch of Parnassus grass that made me think of you, it was so 
white and delicate. I want you to see it. It will be lovely in a few 
weeks more.” 

“You never had seen me a week ago.” 

“Oh hadn’t I?” said the Harvester. “Well maybe I dreamed 
about you then. I am a great dreamer. Once I had a dream that 
may interest you some day, after you’ve overcome your fear of 
me. Now this bed of which I was speaking is a picture in Sep- 
tember. You must arrange to drive home with me and see it 
then.” 

“For what do you sell foxglove and mullein?”’ 

“Foxglove for heart trouble, and mullein for catarrh. I get ten 
cents a pound for foxglove leaves, five for mullein, and from 
seventy-five to a dollar for flowers of the latter, depending on how 
well I preserve the colour in drying them. They must be sealed 
in bottles and handled with extreme care.” 

“Then if I were not too childish to pick them, I could earn 
seventy-five cents a pound for mullein blooms?” 

“Yes,” said the Harvester. ‘But until you learned the trick of 
stripping them rapidly you scarcely could gather what would 
weigh two pounds a day, when dried. Not to mention the fact 
that you would have to stand and work mostly in hot sunshine, 
because mullein likes open roads and fields and sunny hills. Now 
you can sit securely in the shade, and in two hours you can make 
me a pattern of that moth, for which I would pay a designer of 
the arts and crafts shop five dollars, so of course you shall have 
the same.” 

“Oh no!” she cried in swift panic. “You were charged too 

much! It isn’t worth a dollar, even!” 
“On the contrary the candlestick on which I shall use it will be 
invaluable when I finish it, and five is very little for the cream of 
my design. I paid just right. You can earn the same for all you 
can do. If you can embroider linen, they pay good prices for that, 
too, and wood carving, metal work, or leather things. May I see 
how you are coming on?” 

“Please do,” she said. 











118 THE HARVESTER 


The Harvester sprang up, looking over the Girl’s shoulder. He 
could not suppress an exclamation of delight. 


“Perfect!” he cried. “You can surpass their best drafting at the | 
shop! Your fortune is made. Any time you want to go to Ona- | 
basha you can make enough to pay your board, dress you well, | 


and save something every week. You must leave here as soon as 
you can manage it. When can you go?” 

“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I’d hate to tell you how full 
of aches I am. I could not work much just now, if I had the best 
opportunities in the world. I must grow stronger.” 

“You should not work at anything until you are well,”’ he said. 
“It is a crime against nature to drive yourself. Why will you not 
allow i 

“Do you really think, with a little practice, I can draw designs 
that will sell?” 

‘The Harvester picked up the sheet. The work was delicate and 
exact. He could see no way to improve it. 

“You know it will sell,” he said gently, “because you already 
have sold such work.” 

“But not for the prices you offer.” 

‘The prices I name are going to be for new, original designs. 
I’ve got a thousand in my head, that old Mother Nature shows 
me in the woods and on the water every day.” 

“But those are yours; I can’t take them.” 

“You must,” said the Harvester. “I only see and recognize 
studies; I can’t materialize them; so until they are drawn, no one 
can profit by them. In this partnership we revolutionize decora- 
tive art. There are actually birds besides fat robins and nonde- 
script swallows. The crane and heron do not monopolize the 
water. Wild rose and golden-rod are not the only flowers. The 
other day I was gathering lobelia. The seeds are used in tonic 
preparations. It has an upright stem with flowers scattered along 
it. In itself it is not much, but close beside it always grows its 





cousin, tall bell-flower. As the name indicates, the flowers are bell _ 
shape, while I can’t begin to describe their grace, beauty, and 
delicate blue colour. They ring my strongest call to worship. My _ 
work keeps me in the woods so much I remain there for my | 





| 


THE CHIME OF THE BLUE BELLS II9Q 


religion also. Whenever I find these flowers I always pause for a 
little service of my own that begins by reciting these lines: 


“*Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth 
And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer.” 


“Beautiful!” said the Girl. 

“It’s mighty convenient,” explained the Harvester. “By my 
method, you see, you don’t have to wait for your day and hour 
of worship. Anywhere the blue bell rings its call it is Sunday in 
the woods and in your heart. After I recite that, I pray my 
prayer.” 

“Go on!” said the Girl. “This is no place to stop.” 

“Tt is always one and the same prayer,” said the Harvester. “It 
runs this way—Let me take your pencil and I will write it for 
you.” He bent over her shoulder, and traced these lines on a 
scrap of the wrapping paper: 


“Almighty Evolver of the Universe: 
Help me to keep my soul and body clean, 
And at all times to do unto others as I would be done by. 
Amen.” 


The Girl took the slip to study it; then she raised her eyes to 
his face curiously, but with a tinge of awe in them. 

“I can see you standing over a blue, bell-shaped flower reciting 
those exquisite lines and praying this wonderful prayer,” she said. 
“Yesterday you allowed the moth you were willing to pay five 
dollars for a drawing of, to go, because you wouldn’t risk break- 
ing its wings. Why you are more like a woman!” 

A red stream crimsoned the Harvester’s face. 

“Well heretofore I have been considered strictly masculine,” 
he said. ““To appreciate beauty or to try to be commonly decent 
is not exclusively feminine. You must remember there are paint- 
ers, poets, musicians, workers in art along almost any line you 
could mention, and no one calls them feminine, but there is one 
good thing I am. You need no longer fear me. If you should see 


120 THE HARVESTER 


me, muck covered, grubbing in the earth or on a raft washing 
roots in the lake, you would not consider me like a woman.” 

“Would it be any discredit if I did? I think not. I merely meant 
that most men would not see or hear the blue bell at all—while 
as for the poem and prayer! If the woods make a man with such 
fibre in his soul, I must learn them if they half kill me.” 

“You harp on death. Try to forget the word.” 

“I have faced it for months, then seen it do its grinding worst 
very recently to the only thing on earth I loved or that loved me. 
I have no desire to forget! Tell me more about the plants.” 

“Forgive me,” said the Harvester gently. “Just now I am col- 
lecting catnip for the infant and nervous people, hoarhound for 
colds and dyspepsia, boneset heads and flowers for the same pur- 
pose. There is a heavy head of white bloom with wonderful lacy 
leaves, called yarrow. I take the entire plant for a tonic and 
blessed thistle leaves and flowers for the same purpose.” 

“That must be what I need,” interrupted the Girl. “Half the 
time I believe I have a little fever, but I couldn’t have dyspepsia, 
because I never want anything to eat; perhaps the tonic would 
make me hungry.” 

“Promise me you will tell that to the doctor who comes to see 
your aunt, and take what he gives you.” 

‘No doctor comes to see my aunt. She is merely playing lazy to 
get out of work. There is nothing the matter with her.” 

“Then why i 





“My uncle says that. Really, she could not stand and walk | 


across a room alone. She is simply worn out.” 
“T shall report the case,” said the Harvester instantly. 


“You better not!” said the Girl. ‘““There must be a mistake | 


about you knowing my uncle. Tell me more of the flowers.” 
The Harvester drew a deep breath and continued: 


“These I just have named I take at bloom time; next month — 


come purple thorn apple, jimson weed, and hemlock.” 
“Isn’t that poison?” 
“Half the stuff I handle is.” 
‘“Aren’t you afraid?” 


“Terribly,” said the Harvester in laughing voice. “But I want 





nn ee ee 


THE CHIME+‘OP ‘FRE BLUE BELLS [21 


the money, the sick folk need the medicine, and I drink water.” 

The Girl laughed also. 

_ “Look here!” said the Harvester. “Why not tell me about your 
aunt, and let me fix something for her; or if you are afraid to 
trust me, let me have my friend of whom I spoke yesterday.” 

“Perhaps I am not so much afraid as I was,” said the Girl. “I 
_ wish I could! How could I explain where I got it and I wonder 
if she would take it.” 

“Give it to her without any explanation,” said the Harvester. 

“Tell her it will make her stronger and she must use it. Tell me 
exactly how she is, and I will fix up some harmless remedies that 
may help, and can do no harm.” 

“She simply has been neglected, overworked, and abused until 

she has lain down, turned her face to the wall and given up hope. 
I think it is too late. I think the end will come soon. But I wish 
_ you would try. [ll gladly pa od 
— *Don’t!”? said the Harvester. “Not for things that grow in the 
_ woods and that I prepare. Don’t think of money every minute.” 
“T must,” she said with forced restraint. “It is the price of life. 
~ Without it one suffers—horribly—as I know. What other plants 
_ do you gather?” 
_ “Senna,” answered the Harvester. “A beautiful thing! You 
' must see it. Tall, round stems, lacy, delicate leaves, big heads of 
_ bright yellow bloom, touched with colour so dark it appears black 
—one of the loveliest plants that grows. You should see my big 
bed of it in a week or two more. It makes a picture.” 

The words recalled him to the Girl. He turned to study her. 
_ He forgot his commission and chafed at conventions that pre- 
vented his doing what he saw was required so urgently. Fearing 
she would notice, he gazed away through the forest, trying to 
_ think, to plan. 

“You are not making noise enough,” she said. 

So absorbed was the Harvester he scarcely heard her. In an 
attempt to obey he began to whistle softly. A tiny goldfinch in a 
nest of thistle down and plant fibre in the branching of a bush 
’ ten feet above him stuck her head over the brim and inquired: 
“P’tseet?” “Pt’see!”’ answered the Harvester. That began the 








i 


122 THE HARVESTER 


duet. Before the question had been asked and answered half a 
dozen times a catbird intruded its voice and hearing a reply came 
through the bushes to investigate. A wren followed, becoming 
very saucy. From—one could not see where, came a vireo, and 
almost at the same time a chewink had something to say. 

Instantly the Harvester answered. Then a blue jay came chat- 
tering to ascertain what all the fuss was about. The Harvester 
carried on a conversation that called up the remainder of the 
feathered tribe. A brilliant cardinal came tearing through the 
thicket, his beady black eyes snapping, and demanded to know if 
any one were harming his mate, brooding under a wild grape 
leaf in a scrub elm on the river embankment. A brown thrush 
silently slipped like a snake between shrubs and trees, then catch- 
ing the universal excitement, began to flirt his tail and utter a 
weird, whistling cry. 

With one eye on the bird, and the other on the Girl sitting in 
amazed silence, the Harvester began working for effect. He lay 
quietly, but in turn he answered a dozen birds so accurately they 
thought their mates were calling, so closer and closer they came. 
An oriole in orange and black heard his challenge, and flew up > 
the river bank, answering at steady intervals for quite a time be- 
fore it was visible, and in resorting to the last notes he could think 
of a quail whistled “Bob White” and a shitepoke, skulking along 
the river bank, stopped and cried: “Cowk, cowk!” 

At his limit of calls the Harvester changed his notes and whis- 
tled or cried bits of bird talk in tone with every mellow accent 
and inflection he could manage. Gradually the excitement sub- 
sided, the birds flew and tilted closer, turned their sleek heads, 
peered with bright eyes, venturing on and on until the very brav- 
est, the wren and the jay, were almost in touch, Then, tired of © 
hunting, Belshazzar came racing, so the little feathered people 
scattered in precipitate flight. 

‘How do you like that kind of a noise?” inquired the Har- 
vester. 

“Of course you know that was the most exquisite sight I ever 
saw,” she said. ‘‘I never shall forget it. I did not think there were 
that many different birds in the whole world. Of all the gaudy © 





THE CHIME OF THE BLUE BELLS _ 123 


colours! And they came so close you could have touched them.” 


“Yes,” said the Harvester calmly. “Birds are never afraid of 


~ me. At Medicine Woods, when I call them like that, many, most 


of them, in fact, eat from my hand. If you ever have looked at me 
enough to notice bulgy pockets, they are full of wheat. These 
birds are strangers, but I’ll wager you that in a week I can make 
them take food from me. Of course, my own birds know me, be- 
cause they are around every day. It is much easier to tame them 
in winter, when the snow has fallen and food is scarce, but it only 


_ takes a little while to win a bird’s confidence at any season.” 


“Birds don’t know what there is to be afraid of.” 

“Your pardon,” said the Harvester, “but I am familiar with 
them, and that is not correct. They have more to fear than human 
beings. No one is going to kill you merely to see if he can shoot 
straight enough to hit. Your life is not in danger because you have 
magnificent hair that some woman would like for an ornament. 
You will not be stricken out in a flash because there are a few 
bits of meat on your frame some one wants to eat. No one will 
set a seductive trap for you, and, if you are tempted to enter it, 
shut you from freedom and natural diet, in a cage so small you 
can’t turn around without touching bars. You are in a secure and 


_ free position compared with the birds. I also have observed that 


they know guns, many forms of traps, while all of them decide by 
the mere manner of a man’s passing through the woods whether 
he is a friend or an enemy. Birds know more than many people 
realize. They do not always correctly estimate gun range, they are 
foolishly venturesome at times when they want food, but they 
know many more things than most people give them credit for 
understanding. The greatest trouble with the birds is they are too 
willing to trust us and be friendly, so they are often deceived.” 

‘*That sounds as if you were right,” said the Girl. 

“T am of the woods, so I know I am,” he answered. 

“Will you look at this now?” 

The Harvester examined the drawing closely. 

“Where did you learn?” he inquired. 

“My mother. She was educated to her finger tips. She drew, 
painted, played beautifully, sang well, and she had read almost all 


I24 THIE) HARVESTER 


the best books. Besides what I learned at high school she taught 
me all I know. Her embroidery always brought higher prices than 
mine, try as I might. I never saw any one else make such a dainty 
accurate little stitch as she could.” 

“If this is not perfect, I don’t know how to criticize it. I can 
and will use it in my work. But I have one luna cocoon remaining 
and I would give ten dollars for such a drawing of the moth be- 
fore it flies. It may open to-night or not for several days. If your 
aunt should be worse so you cannot come to-morrow and the 
moth emerges, is there any way in which I could send it to you?” 

“What could I do with it?” 

“I thought perhaps you could take a piece of paper and the 
pencils with you, and secure an outline in your room. It need not 
be worked up with all the detail in this. Merely a skeleton sketch 
would do. Could I leave it at the house or send it with some one?” 

‘No! Oh no!” she cried. ‘“‘Leave it here. Put it in a box in the 
bushes where I hid the books. What are you going to do with 
these things?” 

“Hide them in the thicket and scatter leaves over them.” 

“What if it rains?” 

“I have thought of that. I brought a few yards of oilcloth to- 
day, so they will be safe and dry if it pours.” 

“Good!” she said. ‘““Then if the moth comes out you bring it, 
and if I am not here, put it under the cloth and I will run up 
some time in the afternoon. But if I were you, I would not spread 
the rug until you know if I can remain. I have to steal every 
minute I am away, while any day uncle takes a notion to stay at 
home I dare not come.” 

“Try to come to-morrow. I am going to bring some medicine 
for your aunt.” 

“Put it under the cloth if I am not here; but I will come if I 
can. I must go now; I have been away far too long.” 

The Harvester picked up one of the drug pamphlets, laid the 
drawing beside it, and placed it with his other books. Then he 
drew out his pocket book, laid a five-dollar bill on the table and 
began folding up the chair and putting away the things. The Girl 
looked at the money with eager eyes. 


THE CHIMETOEVRBE BLUE BELLS [25 


“Ts that honestly what you would pay at the arts and crafts 
place?” 

“It is the customary price for my patterns.” 

“And are you sure this is as good?” 

“T can bring you some I have paid that for, so you can see for 


_ yourself that it is better.” 


“I wish you would!” she cried eagerly. “I need that money. I 


- would like to have it dearly, if I really have earned it, but I can’t 
touch it if I have not.” 


‘“‘Won’t you accept my word?” 

“No. I will see the other drawings first; then if I think mine 
are as good, I will be glad to take the money tomorrow.” 

“What if you can’t come?” 

“Put them under the oilcloth. I watch all the time. I think 
Uncle Henry has trained even the boys so they don’t play in the 
river on his land. I never see a soul here; the woods, house, and 
everything is desolate until he comes home and then it is like “4 
she paused. 

“T’ll say it for you,” said the Harvester promptly. “Then it is 
like hell.” 

“At its worst,” supplemented the Girl. Taking pencils and a 
sheet of paper she went swiftly through the woods. Before she left 
the shelter of the trees, the Harvester saw her busy her hands with 
the front of her dress, so he knew that she was concealing the 
drawing material. The colour box was left. He said things as he 
put it with the chair and table, covered them with the rug and 
oilcloth, heaping on a layer of leaves. 

Then he drove to the city. Betsy turned at the hospital corner 
with no interference. He could face his friend that day. Despite 





all discouragements he felt reassured. He was progressing. Means 


of communication had been established. If she did not come, he 
could leave a note to tell her if the moth had not emerged and 
how sorry he was to have missed seeing her. 

“Hello, lover!’ cried Doctor Carey as the Harvester entered 
the office. ““Are you married yet?” 

“No. But I’m going to be,” said the Harvester with confidence. 

‘Have you asked her?” 


126 THE HARVESTER 


“No. We are getting acquainted. She is too close to trouble, too 
ill, and too worried over a sick relative for me to intrude myself; 
it would be brutal, but it’s a temptation. Doc, is there any way to 
compel a man to provide medical care for his wife?” 

“Can he afford it?” 

“Amply. Anything! Worth thousands in land and nobody 
knows what in money. It’s Henry Jameson.” 

“The meanest man I ever knew. If he has a wife it’s a marvel 
she has survived this long. Won’t he provide for her?” 

‘IT suppose he thinks he has when she has a bed to lie on and a 
roof to cover her. He won’t supply food she can eat and medicine. 
He says she is lazy.” 

“What do you think?” 

“T quote Miss Jameson. She says her aunt is slowly dying from 
overwork and neglect.” 

“David, doesn’t it seem pretty good, when you say ‘Miss 
Jameson? ” 

‘“Loveliest sound on earth, except the remainder of it.” 

‘“What’s that?” 

“Ruth!” 

“Jove! That is a beautiful name. Ruth Langston. It will go 
well, won’t it?” 

“Music that the birds, insects, Singing Water, the trees, and 
the breeze can’t ever equal. ’m holding on with all my might, 
but it’s tough, Doc. She’s in such a dreadful place and position, 
and she needs so much. She is sick. Can’t you give me a prescrip- 
tion for each of them?” 

“You just bet I can,” said the doctor, “if you can engineer 
their taking them.” 

“IT suppose you’d hold their noses and pour stuff down them.” 

“Tt would if necessary.” 

<< Wellsatus.i 

“All right—TIl fix something, and you see that they use it.” 

“T can try,” said the Harvester. 

“Try! Pah! You aren’t half a man!” 

““That’s a half more than being a woman, anyway.” 

“She called you feminine, did she?” cried the doctor, dancing 


THE CHIME’ OF THE BLUE BELLS [27 


and laughing. ‘She ought to see you harvesting skunk cabbage 


and blue flag or when you are angry.” 
The doctor left the room for half an hour. 
“Try that on them according to directions,” he said, handing 


over a couple of bottles on his return. 


“Thank you!” said the Harvester, “I will!” 
“That sounds manly enough.” 
“Oh pother! It’s not that I’m not a man, or a laggard in love; 


_ but I’d like to know what you’d do to a girl dumb with grief over 
the recent loss of her mother, who was her only relative worth 


counting, sick from God knows what exposure and privation, and 
now a dying relative on her hands. What could you do?” 

“1d marry her and pick her out of it!” 

“T wouldn’t have her, if she’d leave a sick woman for me!” 

“T wouldn’t either. She must stick it out until her aunt grows 
better; then I’ll go out there and show you how to court a girl.” 

“T guess not! You keep the girl you did court, courted, and 


_ you’ll have your hands full. How does that appear to you?” 





The Harvester held up the drawing of the moth. 

The doctor turned to the light. 

“Good work!” he cried. “Did she do that?” 

“She did. In a little over an hour.” 

“Fine! She should have a chance.” 

“She is going to. She is going to have all the opportunity that 


is coming to her.” 


“Good for you, David! Any time I can help!” 
The Harvester replaced the sketch and went to the wagon; but 


he left Belshazzar in charge, while he visited the largest dry goods 


store in Onabasha. There he held a conference with the floor 


_ walker. When he came out he carried a heaping load of boxes of 
_ every size and shape, with a label on each. He drove to Medicine 


Woods singing and whistling. 

“She didn’t want me to go, Belshazzar!” he chuckled to the 
dog. “She was more afraid of a cow than she was of me. I made 
some headway to-day, old boy. She doesn’t seem to have a ray of 
an idea what I am there for, but she is going to trust me soon 
now; that is written in the books. Oh I hope she will be there 
to-morrow, and the luna will be out. Got half a notion to take the 


128 THE HARVESTER 


case and lay it in the warmest place I can find. But if it comes out 
and she isn’t there, I’ll be sorry. Better trust to luck.” 

The Harvester stabled Betsy, fed the stock, and visited with the 
birds. After supper he took his purchases and entered her room. 
He opened the drawers of the chest he had made, and selecting 
the labelled boxes he laid them in. But not a package did he open. 
Then he arose and radiated conceit of himself. 

“Ill wager she will like those,” he commented proudly, “be- 
cause Kane promised me fairly that he would have the right 
things put up for a girl the size of the clerk I selected for him, 
and exactly what Ruth should have. That girl was slenderer and 
not quite so tall, but he said everything was made long on pur- 
pose. Now what else should I get?” 

He turned to the dressing table and taking a note-book from 
his pocket made this list: 


Rugs for bed and bath room. 
Mattresses, pillows and bedding. 
Dresses for all occasions. 

All kinds of shoes and overshoes. 


“There are gloves, too!’’ exclaimed the Harvester. “She has to 
have some, but how am I going to know what is right? Oh, but 
she needs shoes! High, low, slippers, everything! I wonder what 
that clerk wears. I don’t believe shoes would be comfortable with- 
out being fitted, or at least the proper size. I wonder what kind of 
dresses she likes. I hope she’s fond of white. A woman always 
appears loveliest in that. Maybe I'd better buy what I’m sure of 
and let her select the dresses. But I'd love to have this room 
crammed with girl-fixings when she comes. Doesn’t seem as if she 
ever has had any little luxuries. I can’t miss it on anything a 
woman uses. Let me think!” Slowly he wrote again: Parasols. 
Fans. Veils. Hats. 

“T never can get them! I think that will keep me busy for a 
few days,” said the Harvester as he closed the door softly, and 
went to look at the pupz cases. Then he carved on the vine of 
the candlestick for her dressing table; with one arm around Bel- 
shazzar, re-read the story of John Muir’s dog, went into the lake, 
and to bed. 





CHAP TER: 31 


Demonstrated Couriship 


_ WHEN the Harvester saw the Girl coming toward the woods, he 
spread the rug, opened and placed the table and chair, laid out 
the colour box, then another containing the last luna. 

“Did the green one come out?” she asked, touching the box 
lightly. 

“Tt did!” said the Harvester proudly, as if he were responsible 
for the performance. “It is an omen! It means that I am to have 
_ my long-coveted pattern for my best candlestick. It also clearly 
- indicates that the gods of luck are with me for the day, so I get 
my way about everything. There won’t be the least use in your 
asking ‘why’ or interposing objections. This is my clean sweep. I 
shall be fearfully dictatorial so you must submit, because the fates 
have pointed out that they favour me to-day. If you go contrary 
to their decrees you will have a bad time.” 

The Girl’s smile was somewhat wan. She sank on a chair and 

picked up a pencil. 

“Lay that down!” cried the Harvester. “You haven’t had per- 
- mission from the Dictator to begin drawing. You are to sit and 
rest a long time.” 

“Please may I speak?” asked the Girl. 

The Harvester grew foolishly happy. Was she really going to 
play the game? Of course he had hoped, but it was hope without 
any foundation. 

‘You may,” he said soberly. 


130 THE HARVESTER 


“I am afraid that if you don’t allow me to draw the moth at 
once, I'll never get it done. I dislike to mention it on your good 
day, but Aunt Molly is very restless. I got a neighbour’s little girl 
to watch her and call me if I’m wanted. It’s quite certain that I 
must go soon, so if you would like the moth “i 

‘When luck is coming your way, never hurry it! You always 
upset the bowl if you grow greedy and crowd. If it is a gamble 
whether I get this moth, I’ll take the chance; but I won’t change 
my foreordained programme. First, you are to sit still ten min- 
utes, shut your eyes, and rest. I can’t sing, but I can whistle. I’m 
going to entertain you so you won’t feel alone. Ready now!” 

The Girl leaned her elbows on the table, closed her eyes, and 
pressed her slender white hands over them. 

“Please don’t call the birds,” she said. “I can’t rest if you do. 
It was so exciting trying to see all of them and to guess what they 
were saying.” 

“No,” said the Harvester gently. ‘““This ten minutes is for re- 
laxation, you know. You ease every muscle, sink limply on your 
chair, lean on the table, let go all over, and don’t think. Merely 
listen to me. I assure you it’s going to be perfectly lovely.” 

Watching intently he saw the strained muscles relaxing at his 
suggestion and caught the smile over the last words as he slid into 
a low whistle. It was an easy, slow, old-fashioned tune, carrying 
along gently, with neither heights nor depths, just monotonous, 
sleepy, soothing notes, that went on and on with a ripple of 
change at times, only to return to the theme, until at last the Girl 
lifted her head. 

‘It’s far past ten minutes,” she said, “but that was a real rest. 
Truly, I am better prepared for work.” 

“Broke the rule, too!”’ said the Harvester. “It was for me to 
say when time was up. Can’t you allow me to have my way for 
ten minutes?” 

“IT am so anxious to see and draw this moth,” she answered. 
“But first of all you promised to bring the drawings you have 
been using.” 

“Now where does my programme come in?” inquired the Har- 
vester. “You are spoiling everything. I refuse to have my lucky 








DEMONSTRATED COURTSHIP 131 


day interfered with; therefore we will ignore the suggestion until 


_we reach the place where it is proper. Next comes refreshments.” 


He arose to clear the table. Then he spread on it a paper tray 
cloth with a gay border, and going into the thicket brought out a 
box and a big bucket containing a jug packed in ice. The Girl’s 
eyes widened. She reached down, caught up a piece, holding it to 
drip a second, then started to put it in her mouth. 

‘Drop that!’ commanded the Harvester. ““That’s a very un- 


healthy proceeding. Wait a minute.” 


From one end of the box he produced a tin of wafers, from 
the other a plate. Then he dug into the ice, lifting chilled fruit. 


- From the jug he poured a combination that he made of the juices 
_ of oranges, pineapples, and lemons. He set the glass, rapidly frost- 
_ ing in the heat, and the fruit before the Girl. 


‘Now!’ he said. 
For one instant she stared at the table. Then she looked at him. 


In the depths of her dark eyes was an appeal he never forgot. 


“TI made that drink myself, so it’s all right,’ he assured her. 
“There’s a pretty stiff touch of pineapple in it. It cuts the cob- 
webs on a hot day. Please try it!” 

“T can’t!” cried the Girl with a half-sob. “Think of Aunt 


Molly!” 


“Are you fond of her?” 

“No. I never saw her until a few weeks ago. Since then I’ve 
seen mostly her poor, tired back. She lies in a heap facing the 
wall. But if she could have things like these, she needn’t suffer. 
And if my mother could have had them she would be living 
to-day. Oh Man, I can’t touch this.” 

“T see,’ said the Harvester. 

He reached over, picked up the glass, and poured its contents 
into the jug. He repacked the fruit and closed the wafer box. 
Then he made a trip to the thicket and came out putting some- 
thing into his pocket. 

“Come on!” he said. “We are going to the house.” 

She stared at him. “I simply don’t dare.” 

“Then I will go alone,” said the Harvester, taking the bucket 
and starting. 


132 THE) HAIR VEST ER 


The Girl followed him. 

“Uncle Henry may come any minute,” she urged. 

‘“‘Well if he comes and acts unpleasantly, he will get what he 
richly deserves.” 

‘And he will make me pay for it afterward.” 

“Oh no he won't!” said the Harvester. “Pll look out for that. 
This is my lucky day. He isn’t going to come.” 

When he reached the back door he opened it, stepping inside. 
Of all the barren places of crude, disheartening ugliness the Har- 
vester ever had seen, that was the worst. 

“T want a glass and a spoon,” he said. 

The Girl brought them. 

“Where is she?” 

“In the next room.” 

At the sound of their voices a small girl came to the kitchen 
door. 

“How do you do?” inquired the Harvester. “Is Mrs. Jameson 
asleep?” 

“T don’t know,” answered the child. “She just lies there.” 

The Harvester gave her the glass. “Please fill that with water,” 
he said. Then he picked up the bucket and went into the front 
room. When the child came with the water he took a bottle from 
his pocket, filled the spoon, and handed it to her. 

“Hold that steadily,” he said. 

Then he slid his strong hands under the light frame, turning 
the face of the faded little creature toward him. 

“T am a Medicine Man, Mrs. Jameson,” he said casually. “I 
heard you were sick, so I came to see if a little of this stuff 
wouldn’t brace you up. Open your lips.” 

He held out the spoon. The amazed woman swallowed the 
contents before she realized what she was doing. ‘Then the Har- 
vester ran a hand under her shoulders; lifting her gently he tossed 
her pillow with the other hand. 

“You are a light little body, much like my mother,” he com- 
mented. “Now I have something else sick people sometimes 
enjoy.” 





DEMONSTRATED COURTSHIP 133 


He held the fruit juice to her lips as he slightly raised her on 
the pillow. Her trembling fingers lifted, closing around the spar- 
_ kling glass. 

“Oh it’s cool!” she gasped. 

“Tt is,’ said the Harvester, ‘and sour! I think you can take it. 
Try!” 

She drank so greedily he drew away the glass, urging caution, 
but the shaking fingers clung to him; the wavering voice begged 

for more. 

“Jn a minute,” said the Harvester gently. But the fevered 
~ woman would not wait. She drank the cooling liquid until she 
could take no more. Then she watched him fill a small pitcher, 
pack it in a part of the ice and lay some fruit around it. 

“Who, Ruth?” she panted. 

“A Medicine Man who heard about you.” 

“What will Henry say?” 

“He won’t know,” explained the Girl, soothing the hot fore- 
head. “I'll put it in the cupboard, and slip it to you while he is 
out of the room. It will make you strong and well.” 

“J don’t want to be strong and well and suffer it all over again. 
I want to rest. Give me more of the cool drink. Give me all I 
want, then I’ll go to sleep.” 

“Tt’s wonderful,” said the Girl. ““That’s more than I’ve heard 
her talk since I came. She is much stronger. Please let her 
have it.” 

The Harvester assented. He gave the child some of the fruit, 
telling her to sit beside the bed and hold the drink when it was 
asked for. She agreed to be very careful and watchful. Then he 
took the bucket, and accompanied by the Girl, returned to the 
woods. 

“Now we must begin all over again,” he said, as she seated 
herself at the table. ‘““‘Because of the walk in the heat, this time 
the programme is a little different.” 

He replaced the wafer box, opened it, filled the glass, and 
heaped the cold fruit. 

“Your aunt is going to have a refreshing sleep now,” he said, 
“so your mind can be free about her for an hour or two. I am 


134. THE HARVESTER 


very sure your mother would not want you deprived of anything 
because she missed it, so you are to enjoy this, if you care for it. 
At least try a sample.” 

The Girl lifted the glass to her lips with a trembling hand. 

“Tm like Aunt Molly,” she said; “I wish I could drink all I 
could swallow; then lie down and go to sleep forever. I suppose 
this is what they have in Heaven.” 

“No, it’s what they drink all over earth at present, but I have a 
conceit of my own brand. Some of it is too strong of one fruit or 
of the other; all too sweet for health. This is compounded scien- 
tifically, so it’s just right. If you are not accustomed to cold drinks, 
go slowly.” 

“You can’t scare me,” said the Girl; “I’m going to drink all I 
want.” 

There was a note of excitement in the Harvester’s laugh. 

‘You must have some, too!” 

“After a while,” he said. “I was thirsty when I made it, so I 
don’t care for any more now. Try the fruit and those wafers. Of 
course they are not home made—they are the best I could do ata 
bakery. ‘Take time enough to eat slowly. I’m going to tell you a 
tale while you lunch. It’s about a Medicine Man named David 
Langston. It’s a very peculiar story, but it’s quite true. This man 
lives in the woods east of Onabasha, accompanied by his dog, 
horse, cow, and chickens, and a forest full of birds, flowers, and 
matchless trees. He has lived there in this manner for six long 
years. Every spring he and his dog have a seance and agree 
whether he shall go on gathering medicinal herbs and try his 
hand at making medicine or go to the city to live as other men. 
Always the dog chooses to remain in the woods. 

“Then every spring, on the day the first bluebird comes, the 
dog also decides whether the man shall go on alone or find a 
mate and bring her home for company. Each year the dog regu- 
larly has decided that they live as before. ‘This spring, for some 
unforeseen reason, he changed his mind, and compelled the man, 
according to his vow in the beginning, to go courting. The man 
was so very angry at the idea of having a woman in his home, 
interfering with his work, disturbing his arrangements, and per- 





DEMONSTRATED COURTSHIP 135 


haps wanting to spend more money than he could afford, that he 
struck the dog for making that decision; struck him for the very 
first time in his life—I believe you’d like those apricots. Please try 
one.” 

“Go on with the story,” said the Girl, sipping delicately but 
constantly at the frosty glass. 

The Harvester arose and refilled it. Then he dropped pieces of 
ice over the fruit. 

“Where was I?” he inquired casually. 

“Where you struck Belshazzar, and it’s no wonder,” answered 
the Girl. 

Without taking time to ponder that, the Harvester continued: 

“But that night the man had a wonderful, golden dream. A 
beautiful girl came to him, and she was so gracious and lovely 
that he was sufficiently punished for striking his dog, because he 
fell unalterably in love with her.” 

“Meaning you?” interrupted the Girl. 

“Yes,” said the Harvester, “meaning me. I—if you like—fell in 
love with the girl. She came so alluringly, and I was so close to 
her that I saw her better than I ever did any other girl, so I knew 
her for all time. When she went, my heart was gone.” 

“And you have lived without that important organ ever since?” 

“Without even the ghost of it! She took it with her. Well, that 
dream was so real, that the next day I began building over my 
house, making furniture, and planting flowers for her; and every 
day, wherever I went, I watched for her.” 

“What nonsense!” 

“I can’t see it.” 

“You won't find a girl you dreamed about in a thousand 
years.” 

“Wrong!” cried the Harvester triumphantly. ‘Saw her in little 
less than three months, but she vanished and it took some time 
and difficult work before I located her again; but I’ve got her all 
solid now, so she doesn’t escape.” 

“Is she a ‘lovely and gracious lady?’ ” 

“She is!” said the Harvester, emphatically. 

“Young and beautiful, of course!” 


b) 


136 THE HARVESTER 


“Indeed yes!” 

“Please fill this glass. I told you what I was going to do.” 

The Harvester obeyed, then the Girl drank. 

“Now won’t you set aside these things and allow me to go to 
work?” she asked. “My call may come any minute, so I’ll never 
forgive myself if I waste time, and don’t draw your moth pattern 
for you.” 

“It’s against my principles to hurry; besides, my story isn’t 
finished.”’ 

“It is,” said the Girl. “She is young and lovely, gentle and a 
lady, you have her ‘all solid,’ and she can’t ‘escape’; that’s the 
end, of course. But if I were you, I wouldn’t have her until I 
gave her a chance to get away, and saw whether she would if she 
could.” 

“Oh I am not a jailer,” said the Harvester. “She shall be free 
if I cannot make her love me; but I can, and I will; I swear it.” 

“You are truly in earnest?” 

“T am in deadly earnest.” 

“Honestly, you dreamed about a girl, and then found the very 
one?” 

“Most certainly, I did.” 

“Tt sounds like the wildest romancing.” 

“Tt is the veriest reality.” 

“Well I hope you win her, and that she will be everything you 
desire.” 

“Thank you,” said the Harvester. “It’s written in the book of 
fate that I succeed. The very elements are with me. The South 
Wind carried a message to her for me. I am going to marry her, 
but you could make it much easier for me if you would.” 

“T! What could I do?” cried the Girl. 

“You could cease being afraid of me. You could learn to trust 
me. You could try to like me, if you see anything likeable about 
me. That would encourage me so that I could tell you of my 
Dream Girl, and then you could show me how to win her. A 
woman always knows about those things better than a man. You 


could be the greatest help in all the world to me, if only you 
would.” 


DEMONSTRATED COURTSHIP 137 


“T couldn’t possibly! I can’t leave here. I have no proper cloth- 
ing to appear before another girl. She would be shocked at my 
white face. That I could help you is the most improbable dream 
you have had.” 

“You must pardon me if I differ from you, and persist in 
thinking that you can be of invaluable assistance to me, if you 
will. But you can’t influence my Dream Girl, if you fear and dis- 
trust me yourself. Promise me that you will help me that much, 
anyway.” 

“T’ll do all I can. I only want to make you see that I am in no 
position to grant any favours, no matter how much I owe you or 
how I’d like to. Is the candlestick you are carving for her?” 

“It is,” said the Harvester. “I am making a pair of maple for 
a dressing table I built for her. It is unusually beautiful wood, so 
I hope she will like it.” 

“Please take these things away and let me begin. This is the 
only thing I can see that I can do for you, and the moth will want 
to fly before I have finished.” 

The Harvester cleared the table and placed the box, while the 
Girl spread the paper, then began work eagerly. 

“TI wonder if I knew there were such exquisite things in all the 
world,” she said. “I scarcely think I did. I am beginning to un- 
derstand why you couldn’t kill one. You could make a chair or a 
table; so you feel free to destroy them; but it takes ages and 
Almighty wisdom to evolve a creature like this, so you don’t dare. 
I think no one else would if they really knew. Please talk while I 
work.” 

“Ts there a particular subject you want discussed?” 

“Anything but her. If I think too strongly of her, I can’t work 
so well.” 

“Your ginseng is almost dry,” said the Harvester. “I think I 
can bring you the money in a few days.” 

“So soon!” she cried. 

“It dries day and night in an even temperature, and faster than 
you would believe. There’s going to be between seven and eight 
pounds of it, when I make up what it has shrunk. It will go under 
the head of the finest wild roots. I can get eight for it sure.” 


138 THE HARVESTER 


“Oh what good news!” cried the Girl. “This is my lucky day, 
too. And the little girl isn’t coming, so Aunt Molly must be 
asleep. Everything goes right! If only Uncle Henry wouldn’t 
come home!” 

“Let me fill your glass,” proffered the Harvester. 

“Just half way, then set it where I can see it,” said the Girl. 
She worked with swift strokes, while there was a hint of colour 
in her face, as she looked at him. “I hope you don’t think ’m 
greedy,” she said, “but truly, that’s the first thing I’ve had that 
I could taste in—I can’t remember when.” 

“T’ll bring a barrel to-morrow,” offered the Harvester, “‘and a 
big piece of ice wrapped in coffee sacking.” 

“You mustn’t think of such a thing! Ice is expensive and so 
are fruits.” 

“Ice costs me the time required to saw and pack it at my home. 
I almost live on the fruit I raise. I confess to a fondness for this 
drink. I have no other personal expenses, unless you count in 
books, and a very few clothes, such as ’m wearing; so I surely 
can afford all the fruit juice I want.” 

“For yourself, yes.” 

“Also for a couple of women or I am a mighty poor attempt 
at a man,” said the Harvester. “This is my day, so you are not to 
talk, because it won’t do any good. Things go my way.” 

‘*Please see what you think of this,” she said. 

‘The Harvester arose to bend over her. 

“That will do finely,” he answered. “You can stop. I don’t 
require all those little details for carving, I merely want a good 
outline. It is finished. See here!” 

He drew some folded papers from his pocket and laid them 
before her. 

“Those are what I have been working from,” he said. 

The Girl took them, studying each carefully. 

“If those are worth five dollars to you,” she said gently, “why 
then I needn’t hesitate to take as much for mine. They are 
superior.” 

“I should say so,’ laughed the Harvester as he picked up the 
drawing and laid down the money. 


DEMONSTRATED COURTSHIP 139 


“If you would make it half that much I'd feel better about it,” 
she said. 

“How could I>” asked the Harvester. “Your fingers are well 
trained and extremely skilful. Because some one has not been 
paying you enough for your work is no reason why I should 
keep it up. From now on you must have what others get. As soon 
as you can arrange for work, I want to tell you about some 
designs I have studied out from different things, show you the 
plants and insects, then have you make some samples. [ll send 
them to proper places, and see what experts say about the ideas 
and drawing. Work in the woods is healthful, with proper pre- 
cautions; it’s easy compared with the exactions of being bound to 
sewing or embroidering in the confinement of a room; it’s vividly 
interesting in the search for new subjects, changes of material, 
and differing harmonious combinations; it’s truly artistic; while 
it brings the prices high-grade stuff always does.” 

“Almost you give me hope,” said the Girl. “Almost, Man— 
almost! Since mother died, I haven’t thought or planned beyond 
paying for the medicine she took and the shelter she lies in. Oh 
I didn’t mean to say that ug 

She buried her face in her hands. The Harvester suffered until 
he scarcely knew how to endure it. 

“Please finish,” he begged. “You hadn’t planned beyond the 
debt, you were saying he 

The Girl lifted her tired, strained face. 

“Give me a little more of that delicious drink,” she said. “I am 
ravenous for it. It puts new life in me. This and what you say 
bring a far away, misty vision of a clean, bright, peaceful room 
somewhere, and work one could love and live on in comfort; 
enough to give a desire to finish life to its natural end. Oh Man, 
you make me hope in spite of myself!”’ 

“*Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” quoted the 
Harvester reverently. “(Now try one of these peaches. It’s juicy 
and cold. Get that room right in focus in your brain, then nurture 
the idea. Its walls shall be bright as sunshine, its floor creamy 
white, and it shall open into a small garden, where only yellow 
flowers grow, and the birds shall sing. The first ray of sun that 








140 THE HARVESTER 


peeps over the hills of morning shall fall through its windows 
across your bed, and you shall work only as you please, after 
you’ve had months of play and rest; it’s coming true the instant 
you can leave here. Dream of it, make up your mind to it, because 
it’s coming. I have a streak of second sight, so I see it on the way.” 

“You are talking wildly,” said the Girl, “else you are a good 
genie trying to conjure a room for me.” 

“This room I am talking of is ready whenever you want to 
take possession,” said the Harvester. “Accept it as a reality, 
because I tell you I know where it is, that it is waiting, while you 
can earn your way into it with no obligation to any one.” 

The Girl stretched out her right hand, then slowly turned and 
opened and closed it. She glanced at the Harvester with a weary 
smile. 

“From somewhere I feel a glimmering of the spirit, but Oh, 
dear Lord, the flesh is weak!”’ she said. 

‘“‘That’s where nourishing foods, appetizing drinks, plenty of 
pure, fresh air, and good water come in. Now we have talked 
enough for one day, and worked too much. The fruit and drink 
go with you. I will carry it to the house, and you can hide it in 
your room. I am going to put a bottle of tonic on top that the 
best surgeon in the state gave me for you. Try to eat something 
strengthening and then take a spoonful of this, and use all the 
fruit you want. Pll bring more to-morrow and put it here, with 
plenty of ice. Now suppose you let the moth go free,” he sug- 
gested to avoid objections. “You must take my word for it, that 
it is perfectly harmless, lacking either sting or bite, and hold your 
hand before it, so that it will climb on your fingers. Then stand 
where a ray of sunshine falls and in a few minutes it will go out 
to live its life.” 

The Girl hesitated a second as she studied the clean-cut, inter- 
ested face of the man; then she held out her hand, and he urged 
the moth to climb on her fingers. She stepped where a ray of strong 
light fell on the forest floor, holding the moth in it. The brightness 
also touched her transparent hand, her white face and the gleam- 
ing black hair. The Harvester choked down a rising surge of desire 
for her, then took a new grip on himself. 


' 


DEMONSTRATED COURTSHIP I4I 


“Oh!” she cried breathlessly, as the clinging feet suddenly 
loosened while the luna slowly flew away among the trees. She 
turned to the Harvester. “You teach me wonders!” she cried. 
“You give life different meanings. You are not as other men.” 

“If that be true, it is because I am of the woods. The Almighty 
does not evolve all his wonders in animal, bird, and flower form; 
He keeps some to work out in the heart if humanity only will go 
to His school, and allow Him to have dominion. Come now, you 
must go. I will come back and put away all the things and to- 
morrow I will bring your ginseng money. Any time you cannot 
come, if you want to tell me why, or if there is anything I can 
do for you, put a line under the oilcloth. I will carry the bucket.” 

“TI am so afraid,” she said. 

“I will only go to the edge of the woods. You can see if there 
is any one at the house first. If not, you can send the child away; 
then I shall carry the bucket to the door for you, and it will fur- 
nish comfort for one night, at least.” 

They went to the cleared land, then the Girl passed on alone. 
Soon she reappeared. The Harvester saw the child going down 
the road. He set the bucket inside the door. . 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“Nothing but go, before you make trouble.” 

“Will you hide that stuff and walk back as far as the woods 
with me? There is something more I want to say to you.” 

The Girl staggered under the heavy load, so the man turned his 
head and pretended he did not see. Presently she came to him, 
and they returned to the line of the woods. Just as they entered 
the shade there was a flash before them; on a twig a few rods 
away a little gray bird alighted, while in precipitate pursuit 
came a flaming wonder of red, that in a burst of excited trills, 
broken whistles, and imploring gestures, perched beside her. 

The Harvester drew the Girl behind some bushes. 

“Watch!” he whispered. “You are going to see a sight so lovely 
and so rare it is vouchsafed to few mortals ever to behold.” 

“What are they fighting about?” she whispered. 

“You are witnessing a cardinal bird declare his love,” breathed 
the Harvester. 


142 THE HARVESTER 


“Do cardinals love different birds?” 

“‘No. The female is gray, because if she is coloured the same as 
the trees, branches and her nest, she will have more chance to 
bring off her young in safety. He is blood red, because he is the 
bravest, gayest, most ardent lover of the whole woods,” explained 
the Harvester. 

The Girl leaned forward breathlessly watching, while a slow 
surge of colour crept into her cheeks. The red bird twisted, whis- 
tled, rocked, tilted, and trilled, and the gray sat demurely watch- 
ing him, as if only half convinced he really meant it. The gay 
lover began at the beginning, saying it all over again with more 
impassioned gestures than before; then he edged in touch and 
softly stroked her wing with his beak. She appeared startled, but 
did not fly. So again the fountain of half-whistled, half-trilled 
notes bubbled with the acme of pleading intonation, while that 
time he leaned and gently kissed her as she reached her bill for 
the caress. Then she fled in headlong flight; the streak of flame 
darting after her. The Girl caught her breath in a swift spasm of 
surprise and wonder. She turned to the Harvester. 

‘What was it you wanted to say to me?” she asked hurriedly. 

The Harvester was not the man to miss the goods the gods 
provided. Truly this was his lucky day. Unhesitating he an- 
swered: ‘Precisely what he said to her. And if you observed 
closely, you noticed that she didn’t ask him ‘why.’ ” 

Before she could open her lips, he was gone, his swift strides 
carrying him through the woods. 


CHAPTER XII 


“The Way of a Man with a Maid” 


Tue following day the Harvester lifted the oilcloth, and pick- 
ing up a folded note he read 

“Aunt Molly found rest in the night. She was more comfort- 
able than she has been since I have known her. Close the end 
she whispered to me to thank you if I ever saw you again. She 
will be buried to-morrow. Past that, I dare not think.” 

The Harvester sat on the log, studying the lines. She would 
not come that day or the next. After a long time he put the note 
in his pocket, wrote an answer telling her he had been there; 
would come the following day on the chance of her wanting any- 
_ thing he could do, while the next he would bring the ginseng 
money, so she must be sure to meet him. 

Then he went back to the wagon, turned Betsy, and drove 
around the Jameson land watching closely. There were several 
vehicles in the barn lot, and a couple of men sitting under the 
trees of the door yard. Faded bedding hung on the line; women 
moved through the rooms, but he could not see the Girl. Slowly 
he drove on until he came to the first house, where he stopped 
and went in. He saw the child of the previous day, and as she 
came forward her mother appeared in the doorway. 

The Harvester explained who he was, that he was examining the 
woods in search of some almost extinct herbs he needed in his busi- 
ness. Then he told of having been at the adjoining farm the day 
before and about the sick woman. He added that later she had 





144 THE HARVESTER 


died. He casually mentioned that a young woman there seemed 
pale and ill and wondered if the neighbours would see her 
through. He suggested that the place appeared as if the owner 
did not take much interest in it. When the woman finished with 
Henry Jameson, he said how very important it seemed to him that 
some good, kind-hearted soul should go and mother the poor girl. 
The woman thought she was the very person. Without knowing 
exactly how he did it, the Harvester left with her promise to 
remain with the Girl the coming two nights. ‘The woman had her 
hands full of strange and delicious fruit without understanding 
why it had been given her, or why she had made those promises. 
She thought the Harvester a remarkably fine young man to take 
such an interest in strangers, so she told him he was welcome to 
anything he could find on her place that would help with his 
medicines. 

The Harvester just happened to be coming from the woods as 
the woman freshly dressed left the house, so he took her in the 
wagon and drove back to the Jameson place, because he was 
going that way. Then he returned to Medicine Woods and 
worked with all his might. 

First he polished floors, cleaned windows, and arranged the 
rooms as best he could inside the cabin; then he gave a finishing 
touch to everything outside. He could not have told why he did 
it, but he thought it was because there was hope that now the 
Girl would come to Onabasha. If he found opportunity to bring 
her to the city, he hoped that possibly he might drive home with 
her and show Medicine Woods, so everything must be in order. 
Then he worked with flying fingers in the dry-house, putting up 
her ginseng for market. Never was weight so liberal. 

The following morning he drove early to Onabasha and came 
home with a loaded wagon, the contents of which he scattered 
through the cabin where it seemed most suitable, but the greater 
part of it was for her. He glanced at the bare floors and walls of 
the outer rooms, thinking of trying to improve them, but he was 
afraid of not getting the right things. 

“TI don’t know much about what is needed here,” he said, “but 
I am perfectly safe in buying anything a girl ever used.” 








‘“THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID’ 145 


Then he returned to the city, explained the situation to the 
doctor, and selected the room he wanted in case the Girl could 
be persuaded to come to the hospital. After that he went to see 
the doctor’s wife, and made arrangements for her to be ready 
for a guest, because there was a possibility he might want to call 
for help. He had another jug of fruit juice and all the delicacies 
he could think of, also a big cake of ice, when he reached the 
woods. There were only a few words for him. 

“T will come to-morrow at two, if at all possible; if not, keep 
the money until I can.” 

There was nothing to do except to place his offering under the 
oilcloth and wait, but he simply was compelled to add a line to 
say he would be there, also to express the hope that she was 
comfortable as possible and thinking of the sunshine room. 

At noon the following day he bathed, shaved, and dressed in 
fresh, clean clothing. He stopped in Onabasha for more fruit, 
then drove to the Jameson woods. He was waiting and watching 
the usual path the Girl followed, when her step sounded on the 
other side. The Harvester arose and turned. Her pallor was 
alarming. She stepped on the rug he had spread, sinking almost 
breathless on the chair. 

“Why do you come a new way that fills you with fear?’ asked 
the Harvester. 

“Tt seems as if Uncle Henry is watching me every minute, and 
I didn’t dare come where he could see. I must not remain a 
second. You must take these things away and go at once. He is 
dreadful.” 

“So am J,” said the Harvester, “when affairs go too everlast- 
ingly wrong. I am not afraid of any man living. What are you 
planning to do?” 

“T want to ask you, are you sure about the prices of my draw- 
ing and the ginseng?” 

“Absolutely,” said the Harvester. “As for the ginseng it went 
in fresh and early, best wild roots, so it brought eight a pound. 
There were eight pounds when I made up weight and here is 
your money.” 

He handed her a long envelope addressed to her. 


146 THE HARVESTER 


“What is the amount?” she asked. 

“Sixty-four dollars.” 

“T can’t believe it.” 

“You have it in your fingers.” i 

“You know that I would like to thank you properly, if I had 
words to express myself.” 

“Never mind that,” said the Harvester. “Tell me what you 
are planning. Say that you will come to the hospital for the long, 
perfect rest now.” 

“Tt is absolutely impossible. Don’t weary me by mentioning it. 
I cannot.” 

‘Will you tell me what you intend doing?” 

“T must,” she said, ‘for it depends entirely on your word. I am 
going to get Uncle Henry’s supper, and then go and remain the 
night with the neighbour who has been helping me. In the morn- 
ing, when he leaves, she is coming with her wagon for my trunk. 
She is going to drive with me to Onabasha, find me a cheap room 
and lend me a few things, until I can buy what I need. I am 
going to use fourteen dollars of this and my drawing money for 
what I am forced to buy, then pay fifty on my debt. I will send 
you my address when I am ready for work.” 

She clutched the envelope, then for the first time looked at him. 

“Very well,” said the Harvester. “I could take you to the wife 
of my best friend, the chief surgeon of the city hospital, where 
everything would be ease and rest until you are strong; she would 
love to have you.” 

The Girl dropped her hands wearily. 

“Don’t tire me with it!’ she cried. “I am almost falling despite 
the stimulus of food and drink I can touch. I never can thank you 
properly for that. I won’t be able to work hard enough to show 
you how much I appreciate what you have done for me. But you 
don’t understand. A woman, even a poverty-poor woman, if she 
be delicately born and reared, cannot go to another woman on 
a man’s whim; when she lacks even the barest necessities. I don’t 
refuse to meet your friends. I shall love to, when I can be so 
dressed that I will not shame you. Until that time comes, if you 
are the gentleman you appear to be, you will wait without urging 
me further.” 


‘“‘THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID’’ 147 


“T must be a man, in order to be a gentleman,” said the Har- 
vester. “And it is because the man in me is in hot rebellion against 
more loneliness, pain, and suffering for you, that the conventions 
become chains I do not care how soon or how roughly I break. 
If only you could be induced to say the word, I tell you I could 
bring one of God’s gentlest women to you.” 

“And probably she would come in a dainty gown, in her car- 
riage or motor, then be disgusted, astonished, and secretly sorry 
for you. As for me, I do not require her pity. I will be glad to 
know the beautiful, refined, and gentle woman you are so certain 
of, but not until I am better dressed and more attractive in ap- 
pearance than now. If you will give me your address, I will write 
you when I am ready for work.” 

Silently the Harvester wrote it. “Will you give me permission 
to take these things to your neighbour for you?” he asked. ““They 


_ would serve until you can do better, and I have no earthly use 


for them.” 

She hesitated. ‘Then she laughed shortly. 

“What a travesty my efforts at pride are with you!”’ she cried. 
“T begin by trying to preserve some proper dignity; then end by 
confessing abject poverty. I yet have the ten you paid me the 
other day, but twenty-four dollars are not much to set up house- 
keeping on, so I would be gladder than I can say for these very 


- things.” 


“Thank you,” said the Harvester. “I will take them when I go. 
Is there anything else?” 

“T think not.” 

“Will you have a drink?” 

“Yes, if you have more with you. I believe it is really cooling 
my blood.” 

“Are you taking the medicine?” 

“Yes,” she said, ‘and I am truly stronger. I know I appear 
ghastly to you, but it’s loss of sleep, trying to lay away poor Aunt 
Molly decently, and 4 

“And fear of Uncle Henry,” added the Harvester. 

“Yes,” said the Girl. ‘““That most of all! He thinks I am going to 
stay here, to take her place. I can’t tell him I am not, and how I 





148 THE HARVESTER 


am to hide from him when I am gone, I don’t know. I am afraid 
of him.” 

“Has he any claim on you?” 

“Shelter for the past three months.” 

“Are you of age?” 

“T am almost twenty-four,” she said. 

“Then suppose you leave Uncle Henry to me,’ 
Harvester. 

“Why?” 

“Careful now! The red bird told you why!” said the man. “I 
will not urge it upon you now, but keep it steadily in the back of 
your head that there is a sunshine room all ready and waiting 
for you, while I am going to take you to it very soon. As things 
are, I think you might allow me to tell you : 

She was on her feet in instant panic. “I must go,” she said. 
“Uncle Henry is dogging me to promise to remain; I will not, so 
he is watching me. I must go——” 

“Can you give me your word of honour that you will go to the 
neighbourwoman to-night; that you feel perfectly safe?’ 

She hesitated. “Yes, I—I think so. Yes, if he doesn’t find out 
and grow angry. Yes, I will be safe.” 

‘How soon will you write me?” 

‘Just as soon as I am settled and rest a little.” 

“Do you mean several days?” 

“Yes, several days.” 

“An eternity!” cried the Harvester with white lips. “I cannot 
let you go. Suppose you fall ill, fail to write me, and I do not 
know where you are, while there is no one to care for you.” 

“But can’t you see that I don’t know where I will be? If it will 
satisfy you, I will write you to-morrow night to tell you where I 
am, then you can come later.” 

“Is that a promise?” asked the Harvester. 

“Tt is,’ said the Girl. 

“Then I will take these things to your neighbour and wait 
until to-morrow night. You won’t fail me?” 

“T never in all my life saw a man so wild over designs,” said the 
Girl, as she started toward the house. 


b 


suggested the 





b] 











““THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID’’ 149 


“Don’t forget that the design I’m craziest about is the same as 
the red bird’s,” the Harvester flung after her, but she hurried on, 
making no reply. 

He folded the table and chair, rolled the rug, and shouldering 
them picked up the bucket, then started down the river bank. 

“David!” 

Such a faint little call he never would have been sure he heard 
anything if Belshazzar had not stopped suddenly. ‘The hair on the 
back of his neck arose as he turned with a growl in his throat. 
The Harvester dropped his load with a crash and ran in leaping 
bounds, but the dog was before him. Halfway to the house, Ruth 
Jameson swayed in the grip of her uncle. One hand clutched his 
coat front in a spasmodic grasp; with the other she covered her 
face. 

The roar the Harvester sent up stayed the big, lifted fist, 
while the dog leaped for a throat hold, compelling the man to 
defend himself. The Harvester never knew how he covered the 
space until he stood between them, and saw the Girl draw back, 
snatching together the front of her dress. 

“He took it from me!” she panted. “Make him, oh make him 
give back my money!” 

Then for a few seconds things happened too rapidly to record. 
Once the Harvester tossed a torn envelope exposing money to the 
Girl, again a revolver, then both men panting and dishevelled 
were on their feet. 

“Count your money, Ruth!’’ said the Harvester in a voice of 
deadly quiet. 

“It is all here,” said she. 

“Her money?” cried Henry Jameson. ‘““My money! She has 
been stealing the price of my cattle from my pockets. I thought 
I was short several times lately.” 

“You are lying,” said the Harvester deliberately. “It is her 
money. I just paid it to her. You were trying to take it from her, 
not the other way.” 

“Oh, she is in your pay?” leered the man. 

“Tf you say an insulting word I think very probably I shall 
finish you,” said the Harvester. “I can, with my naked hands, 


150 THE HARVESTER 


while all your neighbours will say it is a good job. You have felt 
my grip! I warn you!” 

‘Why is my niece taking money from you?” 

“You have forfeited all right to know. Ruth, you cannot re- 
main here. You must come with me. I will take you to Onabasha 
and find you a room.” 

A horrible laugh broke from the man. 

“So that is the end of my saintly niece!” he said. 

“Remember!” cried the Harvester, advancing a step. “Ruth, 
will you go to the rest I suggested for you?” 

“T cannot.” 

“Will you go to Dr. Carey’s wife?” 

“Tmpossible!”’ 

‘Will you marry me and go to the shelter of my home with 
me?” 

Wild-eyed she stared at him. 

“Why?” 

‘Because I love you, and want life made easier for you, above 
anything else on earth.” 

“But your Dream Girl!” 

“You are the Dream Girl! I thought the red bird told you for 
me! I didn’t know it would be a shock. I believed I had made you 
understand.” 

By that time she was shaking with a nervous chill; the sight 
unmanned the Harvester. 

“Come with me!’ he urged. “We will decide what you want 
to do on the way. Only come, I beg you.” 

“First it was marry, now it’s decide later,’ broke in Henry 
Jameson, crazed with anger. ““Move a step and [ll strike you 
down. I’d better than see you disgraced ie 

The Harvester advanced, Jameson stepped back. 

“Ruth,” said the Harvester, “I know how impossible this 
seems. It is giving you no chance at all. I had intended, when I 
found you, to court you tenderly as girl ever was wooed before. 
Come with me, and I’ll do it yet. The new home was built for 
you. The sunshine room is ready and waiting for you. There is 
pure air, fresh water, nothing but rest and comfort. Pll nurse you 

















‘““THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID’? 18] 


back to health and strength, and you shall be courted until you 
come to me of your own accord.” 

“Impossible!”’ cried the girl. 

“Only if you make it so. If you will come now, we can be mar- 
ried in a few hours, and you can be safe in your own home. I 
realize now that this is unexpected and shocking to you, but if 
you will come with me and allow me to restore you to health and 
strength, and if, say, in a year, you are convinced that you do not 
love me, I will set you free. If you will come, I swear to you that 
you shall be my wife first, and my honoured guest afterward, 
until such time as you either tell me you love me or that you 
never can. Will you come on those terms, Ruth?” 

“IT cannot!” 

“It will end fear, uncertainty, and work, until you are strong 
and well. It will give you home, rest, and love, that you will find 
is worth your consideration. I will keep my word; of that you 
may be sure.” 

“No,” she cried. “No! But take back this money! Keep it until 
I tell you to whom to pay it.” 

She started toward him, holding out the envelope. 

Henry Jameson, with a dreadful oath, sprang for it, his con- 
torted face a drawn snarl. The Harvester caught him in air and 
sent him reeling. He snatched the revolver from the Girl, then 
put the money in his pocket. 

“Ruth, I can’t leave you here,”’ he said. “Oh my Dream Girl! 
Are you afraid of me yet? Won’t you trust me? Won’t you come?” 

**No.’’ 

“You are right about that, my lady; you will come back to the 
house, that’s what you’ll do,” said Henry Jameson, starting to- 
ward her. 

“No!” cried the Girl, retreating. “Oh, Heaven help me! What 
am I to do?” 

“Ruth, you must come with me,” said the Harvester. “I don’t 
dare leave you here.” 

She stood between them, giving Henry Jameson one long, 
searching look. Then she turned to the Harvester. 

“I am far less afraid of you. I will accept your offer,” she said. 


152 THE HARWESTER 


“Thank you!” said the Harvester. “I will keep my word. You 
shall have no regrets. Is there anything here you wish to take 
with you?” 

“TI want a little trunk of my mother’s. It contains some things 
of hers.” 

“Will you show me where it is?” 

She started toward the house; he followed, then Henry Jame- 
son fell in line. The Harvester turned to him. “You remain where 
you are,” he said. “I will take nothing but the trunk. I know 
what you are thinking, but you will not get your gun just now. 
I will return this revolver to-morrow.” 

“And the first thing I do with it will be to use it on you,” said 
Henry Jameson. 

“T’ll report that threat to the police, so that they can see you 
properly hanged if you do,” retorted the Harvester, as he fol- 
lowed the girl. 

“Where is his gun?” he asked as he overtook her. When he 
reached the house he told her to watch the door. He went inside, 
broke the lock from the gun in the corner, found the trunk, 
swung it to his shoulder, passed Henry Jameson, and went back 
through the woods. The Harvester set the trunk in the wagon, 
helped the Girl in, then returned for the load he had dropped at 
her call. Then he took the lines and started to Onabasha. 

The Girl beside him was almost fainting. He stopped to give 
her a drink, trying to encourage her. 

“Brace up the best you can, Ruth,” he said. “You must go 
-with me for a license; that is the law. Afterward, I'll make it just 
as easy for you as possible. I will do everything. In a few hours 
you will be comfortable in your room. You brave girl! ‘This must 
come out right! You have suffered more than your share. I will 
have peace for you the remainder of the way.” 

She lifted shaking hands, trying to arrange her hair and dress. 
As they neared the city she spoke. 

“What will they ask me?” 

“T don’t know. But I am sure the law requires you to appear 
in person now. I can take you somewhere and find out first.” 

“That will take time. I want to reach my room. What would 
-you think?” 





““THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID’’ 153 


“If you are of age, where you were born, if you are a native 
of this country, what your father and mother died of, how old 
they were, and such questions as that. I’ll help you all I can. 
You know those things, don’t you?” 

“Yes. But I must tell you a 

“I don’t want to be told anything,” said the Harvester. “Save 
your strength. All I want to know is any way in which I can 
make this easier for you. Nothing else matters. I will tell you 
what I think; if you have any objections, make them. I will drive 
to the bank, get a draft for what you owe, and have that off your 
mind. ‘hen we will get the license. After that I’ll take you to the 
side door, slip you in the elevator and to the fitting room of a 
store where I know the manager, and you shall have some pretty 
clothing while I arrange for a minister, then I’ll come for you 
with a carriage. That isn’t the kind of wedding you or any other 
girl should have, but there are times when a man only can do his 
best. You will help me, won’t you?” 

“Anything you choose. It doesn’t matter—only be quick as 
possible.” 

“There are a few details to which I must attend,” said the 
Harvester, “and the time will go faster trying on dresses than 
waiting alone. When you are properly clothed you will feel bet- 
ter. What did you say the amount you owe is?” 

“You may get a draft for fifty dollars. I will pay the remainder 
when I earn it.” 

“Ruth, won’t you give me the pleasure of taking you home 
free from the worry of that debt?” 

“I am not going to ‘worry.’ I am going to work and pay it.” 

“Very well,” said the Harvester. “This is the bank. We will 
stop here.” 

As they went in, he handed her a slip of paper. 

“Write the name and address on that,” he said. 

When the slip was returned to him, without a glance he folded 
and slid it under a wicket. “Write a draft for fifty dollars payable 
to that party, and send to that address, from Miss Ruth Jame- 
son,” he said. 

Then he turned to her. 





154 THE HARVESTER 


“That is over. See how easy it is! Now we will go to the 
court house. It is very close. Try not to think. Just move and 
speak.” 

‘Hello, Langston!” said the clerk. “What can we do for you 
here?” 

‘‘Show this girl every consideration,” whispered the Harvester, 
as he advanced. ‘“‘I want a marriage license in your best time. I 
will answer first.” 

With the document in his possession, they went to the store he 
designated, where he found the Girl a chair in the fitting room, 
while he went to see the manager. 

“J want one of your most sensible and accommodating clerks,” 
said the Harvester, “and I would like a few words with her.” 

When she was presented he scrutinized her carefully, deciding 
she would do. 

“TI have many thanks and something more substantial for a 
woman who will help me to carry through a slightly unusual proj- 
ect with sympathy and ability,” he said, “and the manager has 
selected you. Are you willing?” 

“Tf I can,” said the clerk. 

“She has put up your other orders,” interposed the manager; 
“were they satisfactory?” 

“T don’t know,” said the Harvester. “They have not yet 
reached the one for whom they were intended. What I want 
you to do,” he said to the clerk, “is to go to the fitting room and 
dress the girl you find there for her wedding. She had other plans, 
but death disarranged them, so she has only an hour in which 
to meet the event most girls love to linger over for months. She 
has been ill, and is worn with watching; but some time she may 
look back to her wedding day with joy, so if you would help me 
to make the best of it for her, I would be under more obligations 
than I can express.” 

“T will do anything,” said the clerk. 

‘Very well,” said the Harvester. “She has come from the 
country entirely unprepared. She is delicate and refined. Save 
her all the embarrassment you can. Dress her beautifully in white. 
Keep a memorandum slip of what you spend for my account.” 








‘““THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID’’ 155 


“What is the limit?’ asked the clerk. 

“There is none,” said the Harvester. “Put the prettiest things 
on her you have in the right sizes, and if you are a woman with 
a heart, be gentle!” 

“Is she ready?” inquired the manager at the door an hour later. 

“T am,” said the Girl, stepping through. 

The astounded Harvester stood and stared, utterly oblivious 
of the curious people. 

“Here, here, here!’ suddenly he whistled it, in the red bird’s 
most entreating tones. 

The Girl laughed and the colour in her face deepened. 

“Let us go,” she said. 

“But what about you?” asked the manager of the Harvester. 

“Thunder!” cried the man, aghast. “I was so busy getting 
everything else ready, I forgot all about myself. I can’t stand 
before a minister beside her, can [?” 

“Well I should say not,” said the manager. 

“Indeed yes,” said the Girl. “I never saw you in any other 
clothing. You would be a stranger of whom I’d be afraid.” 

“That settles it!’ said the Harvester calmly. “Thank all of 
you more than words can express. I will come in the first of the 
week and tell you how we get along.” 

Then they went to the carriage and started for the residence 
of a minister. 

“Ruth, you are my Dream Girl to the tips of your eyelashes,” 
said the Harvester. “I almost wish you were not. It wouldn’t keep 
me thinking so much of the remainder of that dream. You are 
the loveliest sight I ever saw.” 

“Do I really appear well?” asked the Girl, hungry for appreci- 
ation. 

“Indeed you do!” said the Harvester. “I never could have 
guessed that such a miracle could be wrought. And you don’t 
seem so tired. Were they good to you?” 

“Wonderfully! I did not know there was kindness like that in 
all the world for a stranger. I did not feel lost or embarrassed, 
except the first few seconds when I didn’t know what to do. Oh 
I thank you for this! You were right. Whatever comes in life I 


156 THE HARVESTER 


always shall love to remember that I was daintily dressed and 
appeared as well as I could when I was married. But I must tell 
you I am not real. They did everything on earth to me, three of 
them working at a time. I feel an increase in self-respect in some 
way. David, I do appear better?” 

When she said “David,” the Harvester looked out of the win- 
dow, gulping down his delight. He leaned toward her. 

“Shut your eyes and imagine you see the red bird,” he said. 
“In my soul, I am saying to you again and again what he sang. 
You are wonderfully beautiful, Ruth, and more than wonder- 
fully sweet. Will you answer me a question?” 

<Lieivcan:+ 

“I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?” 

“T said I would.” 

“Then we are engaged, aren’t we?” 

OY ean? 

“Please remove the glove from your left hand. I want to put 
on your ring. This will have to be a very short engagement, but 
no one save ourselves need know.” 

“David, that isn’t necessary.” 

“T have it here, and believe me, Ruth, it will help in a few 
minutes; while all your life you will be glad. It is a precious sym- 
bol that has a meaning. This wedding won’t be hurt by putting 
all the sacredness into it we can. Please, Ruth!” 

“On one condition.” 

“What is it?” 

“That you will accept and wear my mother’s wedding ring in 
exchange,” she said. “It is all I have.” 

“Ruth, do you really wish that?” 

“1 do. 

“TI am more pleased than I can tell you. May I have it now?” 

She removed her glove. The Harvester held her hand closely 
a second, then lifted it to his lips, passionately kissed it and 
slipped on a ring, the setting a big, lustrous pearl. 

“TI looked at some others,” he said, “but nothing got a second 
glance save this. They knew you were coming down the ages, so 
they had the pearls ready. How beautiful it is on your hand! 








““THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID’ 157 


Wear that ring as if you had owned it for the long, happy year 
of betrothal every girl should have. You can start yours to-day. 
If by this time next year I have not won you to my heart and 
arms, I’m no man and not worthy of you. Ruth, you will try to 
love me, won’t you?” 

“T will try with all my heart,” she said instantly. 

“Thank you! I am perfectly happy with that. I never expected 
to marry you before a year, anyway. All the difference will be the 
blessed fact that instead of coming to see you somewhere else, I 
now can have you in my care, and court you every minute. You 
might as well make up your mind to capitulate soon. It’s on the 
books that you do.” 

“If a time ever comes when I realize that I love you, I will 
come straight and tell you; believe me, I will.” 

“Thank you!” said the Harvester. “This is going to be a proper 
wedding after all. It will be over soon and you on the home way. 
Lord, Ruth i? 

The Girl smiled at him as he opened the carriage door, helped 
her up the steps and rang the bell. 

“Be brave now!” he whispered. “Don’t lose your lovely colour. 
These people will be as kind as the others.” 

The minister was gentle and wasted no time. His wife and 
daughter, who appeared for witnesses, kissed Ruth, and con- 
egratulated her. She and the Harvester stood, took the vows, ex- 
changed rings, and returned to the carriage, a man and his wife 
by the laws of man. 

“Drive to Seaton’s café,” the Harvester said. 

“Oh David, let us go home!” 

“This is so good I hate to stop it for something you may not 
like so well. I ordered lunch and if we don’t eat it I will have to 
pay for it anyway. You wouldn’t want me to be extravagant, 
would you?” 

“No,” said the Girl, ‘‘and besides, since you mention it, I be- 
lieve I am hungry.” 

“Good!” cried the Harvester. “I hoped so! Ruth, you wouldn’t 
allow me to hold your hand until we reach the café? It might 
save me from bursting with joy.” 





150 THE HARVESTER 


“Yes,” she said. “But I must take off my lovely gloves first. I 
want to keep them forever.” 

“I’d hate the glove being removed dreadfully,” said the Har- 
vester, his eyes dancing. 

“I’m sorry I am so thin and shaky,” said the Girl. “I will be 
steady and plump soon, won’t I?” 

“On your life you will,” said the Harvester, taking the hand 
gently. 

Now there are a number of things a man deeply in love can 
think of to do with a woman’s white hand. He can stroke it, 
press it tenderly, and lay it against his lips or his heart. ‘The 
Harvester lacked experience in these arts; yet by some won- 
derful instinct all of these things occurred to him. There was real 
colour in the Girl’s cheeks by the time he helped her into the 
café. They were guided to a small room, cool and restful, close 
a window, beside which grew a tree covered with talking leaves. 
A waiting attendant, who seemed perfectly adept, brought in 
steaming bouillon, fragrant tea, broiled chicken, properly cooked 
vegetables, a wonderful salad, then delicious ices and cold fruit. 
The happy Harvester leaned back, watching the Girl daintily 
manage almost as much food as he wanted to see her eat. 

When they had finished: ‘Now we are going home,” he said. 
“Will you try to like it, Ruth?” 

“Indeed I will,” she promised. “As soon as I grow accustomed 
to the dreadful stillness, and learn what things will not bite me, 
I'll do better.” 

“T’ll have to ask you to wait a minute,” he said. “I forgot to 
hire a man to take Betsy home.” 

“Aren’t you going to drive her yourself?” 

“No ma’am! We are going in a carriage or a motor,” said the 
Harvester. 

“Indeed we are not!” contradicted the Girl. “You have had 
this all your way so far. I am going home behind Betsy, with 
Belshazzar at my knee.” 

“But your dress! People will think I am crazy to put a lovely 
woman like you in a spring wagon.” 

“Tet them!” said the Girl placidly. “Why should we bother 





““THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID”? 159 


about other people? I am going with Betsy and Belshazzar.” 

The Harvester had been thinking that he adored her, that it 
was impossible to love her more, but every minute was proving 
to him that he was capable of feeling so profound it startled him. 
To carry the Girl, his bride, through the valley and up the hill 
in the little spring wagon drawn by Betsy—that would have been 
his ideal way. But he had supposed that she would be afraid of 
soiling her dress, or embarrassed to ride in such a conveyance. 
Instead it was her choice. Yes, he could love her more. Hourly 
she was proving that. 

“Come this way a few steps,” he said. “Betsy is here.” 

The Girl laid her face against the nose of the faithful old ani- 
mal, then stroked her head and neck. She held her skirts as the 


_ Harvester helped her into the wagon. She took the seat, and the 


dog went wild with joy. 

“Come on, Bel,” she softly commanded. 

The dog hesitated, looking at the Harvester for permission. 

“You may come here and put your head on my knee,” said 
the Girl. 

“Belshazzar, you lucky dog, you are privileged to sit there and 
lay your head on the lady’s lap,” said the Harvester, while the 


_ dog quivered with joy. 


Then the man picked up the lines, gave a backward glance 


to the bed of the wagon, high piled with large bundles, then 


turned Betsy toward Medicine Woods. Through the crowded 
streets and toward the country they drove, when a big red car 
passed, a man called to them, then reversed and slowly began 
backing beside the wagon. The Harvester stopped. 

“That is my best friend, Doctor Carey, of the hospital, Ruth,” 
he said hastily. “May I tell him? Will you shake hands with him?” 

“Certainly!” said the Girl. 

“Is it really you, David?” the doctor peered with gleaming eyes 
from under the car top. 

“Really!” cried the Harvester, as man greets man with a full 
heart when he is sure of sympathy. “Come give us your best send- 
off, Doc! We were married an hour ago. We are headed for: 
Medicine Woods. Doctor Carey, this is Mrs. Langston.” 


160 THE HARVESTER 


“Mighty glad to know you!” cried the doctor, reaching a 
happy hand. 

The Girl cordially smiled on him. 

“How did this happen?” demanded the doctor. “Why didn’t 
you let us know? This is hardly fair of you, David. You might 
have let us share with you.” 

“That is to be explained,” said the Harvester. “This was de- 
cided on very suddenly, and rather sadly, on account of the 
death of Mrs. Jameson. I forced Ruth to marry me and come 
with me. I grow rather frightened when I think of it, but it was 
the only way I knew. She absolutely refused my other plans. You 
see before you a wild man carrying away a woman to his cave.” 

“Don’t believe him, Doctor!” laughed the Girl. “If you know 
him, you will understand that to offer all he had was like him, 
when he saw my necessity. You will come to see us soon?” 

“Pll come right now,” said the doctor. “T’ll bring my wife and 
arrive by the time you do.” 

“Oh no you won't!” said the Harvester. “Do you observe the 
bed of this wagon? This happened all ‘unbeknownst’ to us. We 
have to set up housekeeping this evening. We will notify you 
when we are ready for visitors. You subside and wait until you 
are sent for.” 

“Why David!” cried the astonished Girl. 

“That’s the law!” said the Harvester tersely. ‘“Good-bye, Doc; 
we'll be ready for you in a day or two.” 

He leaned down, holding out his hand. The grip that caught 
it said all any words could convey; then Betsy started up the hill. 





CHAPTER XIII 


When the Dream Came True 


AT First the road lay between fertile farms dotted with shocked 
wheat, covered with undulant seas of ripening oats, and forests 
of growing corn. The larks were trailing melody above the shorn 
and growing fields, the quail were ingathering beside the fences, 
from the forests on graceful wings slipped the nighthawks and 
sailed and soared, dropping so low that the half moons formed 
by white spots on their spread wings showed plainly. 

“Why is this country so different from the other side of the 
city?” asked the Girl. 

“It is older,” replied the Harvester, “and it lies higher. This 
was settled and well cultivated when that was a swamp. But as 
a farming proposition, the money is in the lowland like your 
uncle’s. The crops raised there are enormous compared with the 
yield of these fields.” 

“I see,” said she. “But this is much better to look at and the 
air is different.” 

“I don’t allow any air to surpass that of Medicine Woods,” 
said the Harvester, “by especial arrangement with the powers 
that be.” 

Then they dipped into a little depression and followed a longer 
valley that was ragged and unkempt compared with the road be- 
tween cultivated fields. The Harvester was busy trying to plan 
what to do first, and working his brain to think if he had every- 
thing the Girl would require for her comfort; so he drove silently 


162 THE HARVESTER 


through the deepening shadows. She shuddered and awoke him 
suddenly. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. 

Her thoughts had gone on a journey, also, and the way had 
been rough, for her face wore a strained appearance. The hands 
lying bare in her lap were tightly gripped, so that the nails and 
knuckles were blue. The Harvester hastily sought for the cause 
of the transformation. A few minutes ago she had seemed at ease 
and comfortable, now she was close to panic. With brain alert 
he searched for the reason. Then it began to come to him. The 
unaccustomed silence and depression of the country might have 
been the beginning. Coming from the city and crowds of people 
to the gloomy valley with a man almost a stranger, going she 
knew not where, to conditions she knew not what, with the ex- 
periences of the day vivid before her. The black valley road was 
not prepossessing, with its border of green pools, through which 
grew swamp bushes and straggling vines. The Harvester looked 
carefully at the road, then ceased to marvel at the Girl. But he 
disliked to let her know he understood, so he gave one last glance 
at those gripped hands and casually held out the lines. 

“Will you take these just a second?” he asked. “Don’t let them 
touch your dress. We must not lose any of our load, because it’s 
mostly things that will make you more comfortable.” 

He arose, and turning, pretended to see that everything was 
all right. Then he resumed his seat. 

“T am a little ashamed of this stretch through here,” he said 
apologetically. “I could have managed to have it cleared and in 
better shape long ago, but in a way it yields a snug profit, and 
so far I’ve preferred the money. The land is not mine, but I 
could grub out this growth entirely, instead of taking only what 
I need.” 

“Is there stuff here you use?” the Girl aroused herself to ask. 
The Harvester saw the look of relief that crossed her face at the 
sound of his voice. 

“Well I should say yes,” he laughed. “Those bushes, numerous 
everywhere, with the hanging yellow-green balls, those, in bark 
and root, go into fever medicines. They are not so much used 
now, but sometimes I have a call, so when I do, I pass the beds 





OO — = 


WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE _ 163 


on my—on our land, and come down here to get what is needed. 
That bush,” he indicated with the whip, “blooms exquisitely in 
the spring. It is a relative of flowering dogwood; the one of its 
many names I like best is silky cornel. Isn’t that pretty?” 

“Yes,” she said, “it is beautiful.” 

“T’ve planted some for you in a hedge along the driveway so 
next spring you can gather all you want. I think you'll like the 
odour. The bark brings more than true dogwood. If I get a call 
from some house that uses it, I save mine and use this. Around 
the edge are hop trees. I realize something from them, and also 
the false and true bitter-sweet that run riot here. Both of them 
have pretty leaves, while the berries of the true hang all winter 
and the colour is gorgeous. I’ve set your hedge closely with them. 
When it has grown a few months it’s going to furnish flowers in 
the spring, a million different, wonderful leaves and berries jn 
the summer, many fruits the birds love in the fall, and bright 
berries, queer seed pods, and nuts all winter.” 

“You planted it for me?” 

“Yes. I think it will be beautiful in a season or two; it isn’t 
so bad now. I hope it will call myriads of birds to keep you com- 
pany. When you cross this stretch of road hereafter, don’t see fetid 
water and straggling bushes and vines; say to yourself, this helps 
to fill orders!” 

“I am perfectly tolerant of it now,” she said. “You make 
everything different. I will come with you and help collect the 
roots and barks you want. Which bush did you say relieved the 
poor souls scorching with fever?” 

The Harvester drew on the lines, Betsy swerved to the edge 
of the road, while he leaned and broke a branch. 

“This one,” he answered. “Buttonbush, because those balls re- 
semble round buttons. Aren’t they peculiar? See how waxy and 
gracefully cut and set the leaves are. Go on, Betsy, get us home 
before night. We appear our best early in the morning, when the 
sun tops Medicine Woods and begins to light us up, or in the 
evening, just when she drops behind Onabasha back there, and 
strikes us with a few level rays. Will you take the lines until I 
open this gate?” 


164. THE HARVESTER 


She laid the twig in her lap on the white gloves and took the 
lines. As the gate swung wide, Betsy walked through, stopping 
at the usual place. 

“Now my girl,” said the Harvester, “cross yourself, lean back, 
and take your ease. This side that gate you are at home. From 
here on belongs to us.” 

“To you, you mean,” said the Girl. 

“To us, I mean,” declared the Harvester. “Don’t you know 
that the ‘worldly goods bestowal’ clause in a marriage ceremony 
is a partial reality. It doesn’t give you ‘all my worldly goods,’ but 
it gives you one-third. Which will you take, the hill, lake, marsh, 
or a part of all of them.” 

“Oh, is there water?” 

“Did I forget to mention that I was formerly sole owner and 
proprietor of the lake of Lost Loons, also a brook of Singing 
Water, having many cold springs? The lake covers about one- 
third of our land. My neighbours would allow me ditch outlet 
to the river, but they say I’m too lazy to take it.” 

“Lazy! Do they mean drain your lake into the river?” 

“They do,” said the Harvester, “and make the bed into a 
cornfield.” 

“But you wouldn’t?” She turned to him with confidence. 

“T haven’t so far, but of course, when you see it, if you prefer 
it in a corn Let’s play a game! Turn your head so,” he indi- 
cated with the whip, “close your eyes; now open them when I 
say ready.” 

“All right!” 

“Now!” said the Harvester. 

“Oh,” cried the Girl. “Stop! Please stop!” 

They were at the foot of a small levee that ran to the bridge 
crossing Singing Water. On the left lay the valley through which 
the stream swept from its hurried rush down the hill, a marshy 
thicket of vines, shrubs, and bushes, the banks impassable with 
water growth. Everywhere flamed foxfire and cardinal flower, 
thousands of wild tiger lilies lifted gorgeous orange-red trumpets, 
beside pearl-white turtle head and moon daisies, while all the 
creek bank was a coral line with the first opening bloom of big 








WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE _ 165 


pink mallows. Rank jewel flower poured gold from dainty cornu- 
copias and lavender beard-tongue offered honey to a million bum- 
bling bees; water smartweed spread a glowing pink bankground, 
and twining amber dodder topped the marsh in lacy mist with 
its delicate white bloom. Straight before them a white-sanded 
road climbed to the bridge and up a gentle hill between the 
young hedge of small trees and bushes, where again flowers and 
bright colours rioted and led to the cabin yet invisible. On the 
right, the hill, crowned with gigantic forest trees, sloped to the 
lake; midway the building stood, and from it, among scattering 
trees all the way to the water’s edge, were immense beds of vivid 
colour. Like a scarf of gold flung across the face of earth waved 
the misty senna; while beside the road running down the hill, in 
a sunny, open space arose tree-like specimens of thrifty magenta 
pokeberry. On the hill crept the masses of colour, changing from 
dry soil to water growth. 

High around the blue-green surface of the lake waved lacy 
heads of wild rice, lower cat-tails, bulrushes, and marsh grasses; 
arrowhead lilies lifted spines of pearly bloom, while yellow water 
lilies and blue water hyacinths intermingled; here and there grew 
a pink stretch of water smartweed and the dangling gold of jewel 
flower. Over the water, bordering the edge, starry faces of white 
pond lilies floated. Blue flags waved graceful leaves, willows grew 
in clumps, and vines clambered everywhere. 

Among the growth of the lake shore, duck, coot, and grebe 
voices commingled in the last chattering hastened splash of se- 
curing supper before bedtime; crying killdeers crossed the water, 
while overhead the nighthawks massed in circling companies. 
Betsy climbed the hill and at every step the Girl cried: ‘Slower! 
please go slower!” With wide eyes she stared around her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me it would be like this?’ she demanded 
in awed tones. 

“Have I had opportunity to describe much of anything?” 
asked the Harvester. “Besides, I was born and reared here, and 
while it has been a garden of bloom for the past six years only, 
it always has been a picture; but one forgets to say much about 
a sight seen every day and that requires the work this does.” 


166 THE HARVESTER 


“That white mist down there, what is it?” 

‘Pearls grown by the Almighty,” answered the Harvester. 
“Flowers that I hope you will love. They are like you. Tall and 
slender, graceful, pearl white and pearl pure—those are the ar- 
rowhead lilies.” 

“And the wonderful purplish-red there on the bank? Oh, I 
could kneel and pray,before colour like that!” 

‘“Pokeberry!” said the Harvester. “Roots bring five cents a 
pound. Good blood purifier.” 

“Man!” cried the Girl. “How can you? I’m not going to ask 
what another colour is. Pll just worship what I like in silence.” 

“Will you forgive me if I tell you what a woman whose judg- 
ment I respect says about that colour?” 

“Perhaps!” 

“She says, “God proves that He loves it best of all the tints in 
His workshop by using it first and most sparingly.’ Now are you 
going to punish me by keeping silent?” 

“T couldn’t if I tried.” 

Then they came upon the bridge crossing Singing Water, and 
there was a long view of its border, rippling bed, and marshy 
banks; while on the other hand the lake resembled a richly in- 
crusted sapphire. 

“Is the house close?” 

“Only a few rods, at the turn of the drive.” 

“Please help me down. I want to remain a while. I don’t care 
what else there is to see. Nothing can equal this. I wish I could 
bring down a bed and sleep here. I’d like to draw and paint here. 
I understand now what you mean about designs. Why, there must 
be thousands! I can’t go on. I never saw anything so appealing 
in all my life.” 

Now the Harvester’s mother had planned that bridge, while 
he had built it with much care. From bark-covered railings to 
oak floor and comfortable benches along the sides it was intended 
to be a part of the landscape. 

“Pl send Belshazzar to the cabin with the wagon,” he said, 
“so you can see better.” 

“But you must not!” she cried. “I can’t walk. I wouldn’t soil 
these beautiful shoes for anything.” 





WHEN THE DREAM GAME TRUE 167 


“Why don’t you change them?” inquired the Harvester. 

“I am afraid I forgot everything I had,” said the Girl. 

“There are shoes somewhere in this load. I thought of them 
in getting other things for you, but I had no ideas as to size, so 
I told that clerk to-day when she got your measure to put in 
every kind you’d need.” 

“You are horribly extravagant,” she said. “But if you have 
them here, perhaps I could use one pair.” 

The Harvester hunted until he found a large box, and open- 
ing it on the bench he disclosed almost every variety of shoe, 
walking shoe and slipper, a girl ever owned, as well as sandals 
and high overshoes. 

“For pity’s sake!” cried the Girl. “Cover that box! You 
frighten me. You'll never get them paid for. You must take 
them straight back.” 

“Never take anything back,” said the Harvester. “ ‘Be sure 
you are right, then go ahead,’ is my motto. Now I know these 
are your correct size and that for differing occasions you will 
want just such shoes as other girls have, so here they are. Simple 
as life! I think these will serve because they are for street wear, 
yet they are white inside.” He produced a pair of canvas walking 
shoes and kneeling before her held out his hand. 

When he had finished, he loaded the box on the wagon, gave 
the hitching strap to Belshazzar, and told him to lead Betsy to 
the cabin and hold her until he came. Then he turned to the 
Girl. 

“Now,” he said, “look as long as you choose. But remember 
that the law gives you part of this and your lover, which same 
am I, gives you the remainder, so you are privileged to come here 
at any hour as often as you please. If you miss anything this eve- 
ning, you have all time to come in which to re-examine it.” 

“T’d like to live right here on this bridge,” she said. “I wish 
it had a roof.” 

“Roof it to-morrow,” offered the Harvester. “Simple matter of 
a few pillars already cut, joists joined, and some slab shingles left 
from the cabin. Anything else your ladyship can suggest?” 

“That you be sensible.” 


168 THE HARVESTER 


“I was born that way,” explained the Harvester, “and I’ve 
cultivated the faculty until I’ve developed real genius. Talking 
of sense, there never was a proper marriage in which the man 
didn’t give the woman a present. You seem likely to be more 
appreciative of this bridge than anything else I have, so right here 
and now would be the appropriate place to offer you my wed- 
ding gift. I didn’t have much time, but I couldn’t have found 
anything more suitable if I’d taken a year.” He held out a small, 
white velvet case. “Doesn’t that look as if it were made for a 
bride?” 

“It does,” answered the Girl. “But I can’t take it. You are 
not doing right. Marrying as we did, you never can believe that 
I love you; maybe it won’t ever happen that I do. I have no 
right to accept gifts and expensive clothing from you. In the first 
place, if the love you ask never comes, there is no possible way 
in which I can repay you. In the second, these things you are 
offering are not suitable for life and work in the woods. In the 
third, I think you are being extravagant, and I couldn’t forgive 
myself if I allowed that.” 

“You divide your statements like a preacher, don’t you?” asked 
the Harvester ingenuously. “Now sit thee here and gaze on the 
placid lake and quiet your troubled spirit, while I demolish your 
‘perfectly good’ arguments. In the first place, you are now my 
wife, so you have a right to take anything I offer, if you care for 
it or can use it in any manner. In the second, you must recognize 
a difference in our positions. What seems nothing to you means 
all the world to me, and you are less than human if you deprive 
me of the joy of expressing feelings I am in honour bound to 
keep in my heart, by these little material offerings. In the third 
place, I inherited over six hundred acres of land and water, 
please observe the water—it is now in evidence on your left. All 
my life I have been taught to be frugal, economical, and to work. 
All I’ve earned either has gone back into land, into the bank, or 
into books, very plain food, and such clothing as you now see me 
wearing. Just the value of this place as it stands, with its big 
trees, its drug crops yielding all the year around, would be diff- 
cult to estimate; and I don’t mind telling you that on the top 





| 
| 


WHEN THE DREAM GAME TRUE _ 169 


of that hill there is a gold mine, and it’s mine—ours since four 
o’clock.” 

“A gold mine!” 

“Acres and acres of wild ginseng, seven years of age and ready 
to harvest. Do you remember what your few pounds brought?” 

“Why it’s worth thousands!” 

“Exactly! For your peace of mind I might add that all I have 
done or got is paid for, except what I bought to-day, and I will 
write a check for that as soon as the bill is made out. My bank 
account will never feel it. Truly, Ruth, I am not doing or going 
to do anything extravagant. I can’t afford to give you diamond 
necklaces, yachts, and trips to Europe; but you can have the 
contents of this box and a motor boat on the lake, a horse and 
carriage, and a trip—say to New York, perfectly well. Please 
take it.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t ask me. I would be happier not to.” 

“Yes, but I do ask you,” persisted the Harvester. “You are not 
the only one to be considered. I have some rights also, while 
I’m not so self-effacing that I won’t insist upon them. From your 
standpoint I am almost a stranger. You have spent no time con- 
sidering me in near relations; I realize that. You feel as if you 
were driven here for a refuge, which is true. I said to Belshazzar 
one day that I must remember that you had no dream, so had 
spent no time loving me, and I do. I know how this wedding 
seems to you, but it’s going to mean something different and 
better soon, please God. I can see your side; now suppose you 
take a look at mine. I did have a dream, it was my dream, and 
beyond the sum of any delight I ever conceived. On the strength 
of it I rebuilt my home and remodelled these premises. ‘Then I 
saw you, and from that day I worked early and late. I lost you 
and I never stopped until I found you; I would have courted 
and won you, but the fates intervened so here you are! It’s now 
my delight to court and win you. If you knew the difference 
between having a dream that stirred the least fibre of your being 
and facing the world in a demand for realization of it; then find- 
ing what you coveted in the palm of your hand, as it were, you 
would know what is in my heart, and why expression of some 


170 THE HARVESTER 


kind is necessary to me now, and why I'll explode if it is denied. 
It will lower the tension, if you will accept this as a matter of 
fact; as if you rather expected and liked it, if you can.” 

The Harvester set his finger on the spring. 

“Don’t!” she said. ‘‘1’ll never have the courage if you do. Give 
it to me in the case, and let me open it. Despite your unanswer- 
able arguments, I am quite sure that is the only way in which 
I can take it.” 

The Harvester gave her the box. 

“My wedding gift!” she exclaimed, more to herself than to 
him. ‘‘Why should I be the buffet of all the unkind fates kept 
in store for a girl my whole life; then suddenly be offered home, 
beautiful gifts, and wonderful loving kindness by a stranger?” 

The Harvester ran his fingers through his crisp hair, pulled 
it into a peak, stepped to the seat and sitting on the railing, he 
lifted his elbows, tilted his head, and began a motley outpouring 
of half-spoken, half-whistled trills and imploring cries. ‘There was 
enough similarity that the Girl instantly recognized the red bird. 
Out of breath the Harvester dropped to the seat beside her. 

“And don’t you keep forgetting it!’ he cried. “Now open that 
box and put on the trinket; because I want to take you to the 
cabin when the sun falls level on the drive.” 

She opened the case, exposing a thread of gold that appeared 
too slender for the weight of an exquisite pendant, set with shim- 
mering pearls. 

“If you will look down there,” the Harvester pointed over the 
railing to the arrowhead lilies touched with the fading light, “you 
will see that they are similar.” 

“They are!” cried the Girl. “How lovely! Which is more beau- 
tiful I do not know. And you won’t like it if I say I must not.” 

She held the open case toward the Harvester. 

“ ‘Possession is nine points in the law,’ ”’ he quoted. “You have 
taken it already, it is in your hands; now make the gift perfect 
for me by putting it on and saying nothing more.” 

“My wedding gift!’ repeated the Girl. Slowly she lifted the 
beautiful ornament, holding it in the light. “I’m so glad you just 
force me to take it,” she said. “Any half-normal girl would be 





WHEN THE DREAM GAME TRUE I71 


delighted. I do accept it. And what’s more, I am going to keep 
and wear it and my ring at suitable times all my life, in memory 
of what you have done to be kind to me on this awful day.” 

“Thank you!” said the Harvester. “That is a flash of the 
proper spirit. Allow me to put it on you.” 

“No!” said the Girl. ‘Not yet! After a while! I want to hold 
it in my hands, where I can see it!” 

“Now there is one other thing,” said the Harvester. “If I had 
known for any length of time that this day was coming and 
bringing you, as most men know when a girl is to be given into 
their care, I could have made it different. As it is, ’ve done the 
best I knew. All your after life I hope you will believe this: that 
if you missed anything to-day that would have made it easier for 
you or more pleasant, the reason was because of my ignorance 
of women and the conventions, and lack of time. I want you to 
know and to feel that in my heart those vows I took were real. 
This is undoubtedly all the marrying I shall ever want to do. 
I am old-fashioned in my ways, and deeply imbued with the spirit 
of the woods, which means unending evolution along the same 
lines. 

‘To me you are my revered and beloved wife, my mate now; 
so I am sure and nothing will change me. This is the day of my 
marriage to the only woman I ever have thought of wedding, 
and to me it is joy unspeakable. With other men such a day ends 
differently from the close of this with me. Because I have done 
and will continue to do the level best I know for you, this ora- 
tion is the prologue to asking you for one gift to me from you, 
a wedding gift. I don’t want it unless you can bestow it ungrudg- 
ingly, and truly want me to have it. If you can, I will have all 
from this day I hope for at the hands of fate. May I have the 
gift I ask of you, Ruth?” 

She lifted startled eyes to his face. 

“Tell me what it is?” she breathed. 

“Tt may seem much to you,” said the Harvester; “to me it 
appears only a gracious act, from a wonderful woman, if you 
will give me freely, one real kiss. I’ve never had one, save from 
a Dream Girl Ruth, and you will have to make yours pretty good 


172 THE HARVESTER 


if it is anything like hers. You are woman enough to know that 
most men crush their brides in their arms and take a thousand. 
[ll put my hands behind me and never move a muscle, and I 
won’t ask for more, if you will crown my wedding day with only 
one touch of your lips. Will you kiss me only once, Ruth?” 

The Girl lifted a piteous face down which big tears suddenly 
rolled. 

“Oh Man, you shame me!” she cried. “What kind of a heart 
have I that it fails to respond to such a plea? Have I been over- 
worked and starved so long there is no feeling in me? I don’t 
understand why I don’t take you in my arms and kiss you a hun- 
dred times, but you see I don’t. It doesn’t seem as if I ever could.” 

“Never mind,” said the Harvester gently. “It was merely a 
fancy of mine, bred from my dream and unreasonable, perhaps. 
I am sorry I mentioned it. The sun is on the stoop now; I want 
you to enter your home in its light. Come!” 

He half lifted her from the bench. “I am going to help you up 
the drive as I used to assist mother,” he said, fighting to keep his 
voice natural. “Clasp your hands before you and draw your el- 
bows to your sides. Now let me take one in each palm, and you 
will scoot up this drive as if you were on wheels.” 

“But I don’t want to ‘scoot,’”’ she said unsteadily. “I must 
go slowly and not miss anything.” 

“On the contrary, you don’t want to do any such thing—you 
should leave most of it for to-morrow.” 

“TI had forgotten to-morrow. It seems as if the day would end 
it and set me adrift again.” 

“You are going to awake in the gold room with the sun shin- 
ing on your face in the morning, and it’s going to keep on all your 
life. Now if you’ve got a smile in your anatomy, bring it to the 
surface, for just beyond this tree lies happiness for you.” 

His voice was clear and steady now, his confidence something 
contagious. There was a lovely smile on her face as she looked 
at him, and stepped into the line of light crossing the driveway; 
then she stopped and cried, “Oh lovely! Lovely! Lovely!” over 
and over. 

The cabin of large, peeled, golden oak logs, oiled to preserve 





WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE 173 


them, nestled like a big mushroom on the side of the hill. Above 
and behind the building the trees arose in a green setting. The 
roof was stained to their shades. The wide veranda was enclosed 
in screening, over which wonderful vines climbed in places, and 
round it grew ferns and deep-wood plants. Inside hung big bas- 
kets of wild growth; there was a wide swinging seat, with a back 
rest, supported by heavy chains. There were chairs and a table of 
bent saplings and hickory withes. Two full stories the building 
arose; the western sun warmed it almost to orange-yellow, while 
graceful vines crept toward the roof. 

The Girl looked at the rapidly rising hedge on each side of her, 
at the white floor of the drive, and long and long at the cabin. 

“You did all this since February?” she asked. 

“Even to transforming the landscape,” he answered. 

“Oh I wish it were not coming night!” she cried. “I don’t 
want the dark to come, until you have told me the name of every 
tree and shrub of that wonderful hedge, and every plant and vine 
of the veranda; I want to follow up the driveway and see that 
beautiful little creek—listen to it chuckle and laugh! Is it always 
glad like that? See the ferns and things that grow on the other 
side of it! Why, there are big beds of them. And lilies of the valley 
by the acre! What is that yellow around the corner?” 

“Never mind that now,” said the Harvester, guiding her up 
the steps, along the gravelled walk to the screen that he opened, 
and over a flood of gold light she crossed the veranda, to enter 
the door. 

“Now here it appears bare,” said the Harvester, “because I 
didn’t know what should go on the walls or what rugs to get or 
about the windows. The table, chairs, and couch I made myself 
with some help from a carpenter. They are solid black walnut 
and will age finely.” 

“They are beautiful,” said the Girl, touching the table top. 
“Please put the necklace on me now, I must use my eyes and 
hands for other things.” 

She held out the box so the Harvester lifted the pendant and 
clasped the chain around her neck. She glanced at the lustrous 
pearls, then the fingers of one hand softly closed over them. She 


174. THE HARVESTER 


went through the long, wide living-room, examining the chairs 
and mantel, stopping to touch and exclaim over its array of half- 
finished candlesticks. At the door of his room she paused. “And 
this?” she questioned. 

“Mine,” said the Harvester, turning the knob. “TI’ll give you 
one peep to satisfy your curiosity, and show you the location of 
the bridge over which you came to me in my dream. All the 
remainder is yours. I reserve only this.” 

“Will the ‘goblins git me’ if I come here?” 

“Not goblins, but a man alive; so heed your warning. After 
you have seen it, keep away.” 

The floor was cement, three of the walls heavy screening with 
mosquito wire inside, the roof slab shingled. On the inner wall 
was a bookcase, below it a desk, at one side a gun cabinet, at the 
other a bath in a small alcove beside a closet. The room con- 
tained two chairs like those of the veranda. The bed was a low 
oak couch covered with a thick mattress of hemlock twigs, topped 
with sweet fern, on which the sun shone all day. On a chair at 
the foot were spread some white sheets, a blanket, and an oilcloth. 
The sun beat in, the wind drifted through. One lying on the 
couch could see down the bright hill, and sweep the lake to the 
opposite bank without lifting the head. The Harvester drew the 
Girl to the bedside. 

“Now straight in a line from here,”’ he said, “across the lake 
to that big, scraggy oak, every clear night the moon builds a 
bridge of molten gold, and once you walked it, my girl, and came 
straight to me, alone and unafraid; and you were gracious and 
lovely beyond anything a man ever dreamed of before. I’ll have 
that to think of to-night. Now come see the dining-room, kitchen, 
and hand-made sunshine.” 

He led her into what had been the front room of the old 
cabin, now a large, long dining-room having on each side wide 
windows with deep seats. The fireplace back-wall was against 
that of the living-room, but here the mantel was bare. All the 
wood-work, chairs, the dining table, cupboards, and carving table 
were golden oak. Only a few rugs and furnishings and a woman’s 





WHEN THE DREAM GAME TRUE_ 175 


touch were required to make it an unusual and beautiful room. 
The kitchen was shining with a white hard-wood floor, white 
wood-work, and pale green walls. It was a light, airy, sanitary 
place, supplied with a pump, sink, hot and cold water faucets, 
refrigerator, and every modern convenience possible to the coun- 
try. 

Then the Harvester almost carried the Girl up the stairs and 
showed her three large sleeping rooms, empty and bare save for 
some packing cases. 

“TI didn’t know about these, so I didn’t do anything. When 
you find time to plan, tell me what you want, and I'll make or 
buy it. They are good-sized, cool rooms. They all have closets 
and pipes from the furnace, so they will be comfortable in winter. 
Now there is your place remaining. I'll leave you while I stable 
Betsy and feed the stock.” He guided her to the door opening 
from the living-room to the east. “This is the sunshine spot,” he 
said. “It is bathed in morning light, and sheltered by afternoon 
shade. Singing Water is across the drive there to talk to you 
always. It comes pelting down so fast it never freezes, so it makes 
music all winter, while the birds are so numerous you'll have to 


_ go to bed early for they'll wake you by dawn. I noticed this room 
_ was going to be full of sunshine when I built it, and I craved only 
_ brightness for you, so I coaxed all of it to stay that I could. Every 
stroke is the work of my hands, and all of the furniture. I hope 
_ you will like it. This is the room of which I’ve been telling you, 


Ruth. Go in and take possession, and I’ll entreat God and all His 
ministering angels to send you the sunshine and joy.” He opened 
the door, guided her inside, closed it, and went swiftly to his work. 

The Girl stood looking around her with amazed eyes. The floor 
was pale yellow wood, polished until it shone like a table top. The 
casings, table, chairs, dressing table, chest of drawers, and bed 
were solid curly maple. The doors were big polished slabs of it, 
each containing enough material to veneer all the furniture in the 


room. The walls were of plaster, tinted yellow, and the windows 
_ with yellow shades were curtained in dainty white. She could 


hear the Harvester carrying the load from the wagon to the 


176 THE HARVESTER 


front porch, the clamour of the barnyard; and as she went to the 
north window ‘to see the view, a shining peacock strutted down 
the walk and went to the Harvester’s hand for grain, while scores 
of white doves circled over his head. She stepped on deep rugs of 
yellow goat skins, and, glancing at the windows on either side, 
she opened the door. 

Outside it lay a porch with a railing, but no roof. On each 
post stood a box filled with yellow wood-flowers and trailing vines 
of pale green. A big tree rising through one corner of the floor 
supplied the cover. A gate opened to a walk leading to the drive- 
way, and on either side lay a patch of sod, outlined by a deep 
hedge of bright gold. In it senna, cone-flowers, black-eyed Su- 
sans, golden-rod, wild sunflowers, and jewel flower grew, while 
some of it, enough to form a yellow line, was already in bloom. 
Around the porch and down the walk were beds of yellow violets, 
pixie moss, and every tiny gold flower of the woods. The Girl 
leaned against the tree, looking around her, then staggered inside 
and dropped on the couch. 

“What planning! What work!” she sobbed. ‘What taste! Why 
he’s a poet! What wonderful beauty! He’s an artist with earth for 
his canvas, and growing things for colours.” 

She lay there staring at the walls, the beautiful woodwork and 
furniture, the dressing table with its array of toilet articles, a low 
chair before it, and the thick rug for her feet. Over and over she 
looked at everything, then closed her eyes and lay quietly, too 
weary and overwhelmed to think. By and by came tapping at the 
door, so she sprang up and crossing to the dressing table straight- 
ened her hair and composed her face. 

“Ajax demands to see you!” cried a gay voice. 

The Girl stepped outside. 

“Don’t be frightened if he screams at you,” warned the Har- 
vester as she passed him. “He detests a stranger so he always cries 
and sulks.” 

It was a question what was in the head of the bird as he saw 
the strange looking creature invading his domain, for he did 
scream, a wild, high, strident wail that delighted the Harvester 
inexpressibly, because it sent the Girl headlong into his arms. 


: 


———eeeeEeEEEeeeeeeee—e——e—eEeEeEeEeEEeEeEEEEEE—w7” 


WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE 177 


“Oh good gracious!” she cried. “Has such a beautiful bird got 
a noise in it like that? Why I’ve fed them in parks and I never 
heard one explode before.” 

“But you see you are in the woods now, and this is not a park 
bird. It will be the test of your power to see how soon you can 
coax him to your hand.” 

“How do I work to win him?” 

“T am afraid I can’t tell you that,” said the Harvester. “I had 
to invent a plan for myself. It required a long time and much 
petting, and my methods might not avail for you. It will interest 
you to study that out. But the member of the family it is positively 
essential that you win to a life and death allegiance is Belshazzar. 
If you can make him love you, he will protect you at every turn. 
He will go before you into the forest and all the crawling, creep- 
ing things will get out of his way. He will nose around the flowers 
you want to gather, and if he growls and the hair on the back of 
his neck rises, never forget that you must heed that warning. A 
few times I have not stopped for it, and I always have been sorry, 
So far as anything animate or uncertain footing is concerned, you 
are always perfectly safe if you obey him. About touching plants 
and flowers, you must confine yourself to those you are certain 
you know, until I can teach you. There are wonderfully attrac- 
tive things here, but some of them are rank poison. You won’t 
handle plants you don’t know, until you learn, Ruth?” 

“T will not,” she promised instantly. 

She went to the seat under the porch tree and leaning against 
the trunk she studied the hill, the rippling course of Singing 
Water where it turned and curved before the cabin, and started 
across the vivid little marsh toward the lake. Then she looked at 
the Harvester. He seated himself on the low railing and smiled at 
her. 

“You are very tired?” he asked. 

“No,” she said. “You are right about the air being better up 
here. It is stimulating instead of depressing.” 

“So far as pure air, location, and water are concerned,” said 
the Harvester, “I consider this place ideal. ‘The lake is large 
enough to cool the air and raise sufficient moisture to dampen it, 


178 THE HARVESTER 


and too small to make it really cold and disagreeable. The slope 
of the hill gives perfect drainage. The heaviest rains do not wet 
the earth for more than three hours. North, south, and west 
breezes sweep the cool air from the water to the cabin in summer. 
‘The same suns warm us here on the winter hillside. My violets, 
spring beauties, anemones, and dutchman’s breeches here are al- 
ways two weeks ahead of those in the woods. I am not afraid of 
your not liking the location or the air. As for the cabin, if you 
don’t care for that, it’s very simple. I’ll transform it into a labora- 
tory and dry-house, and build you whatever you want, within my 
means, over there on the hill just across Singing Water and facing 
the valley toward Onabasha. That’s a perfect location. The thing 
that worries me is what you are going to do for company, es- 
pecially while I am away.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself about anything,” she said. “Just say in 
your heart, ‘she is going to be stronger than she ever has been in 
her life in this lovely place, and she has more right now than she 
ever had or hoped to have.’ For one thing, I am going to study 
your books. I never have had time before. While we sewed or 
embroidered, mother talked by the hour of the great writers of 
the world, told me what they wrote, and how they expressed 
themselves, but I got to read very little for myself.” 

“Books are my company,” said the Harvester. 

“Do your friends come often?” 

‘Almost never! Doc and his wife come most. If you look out 
some day and see a white-haired, bent old woman, with a face as 
sweet as dawn, coming up the bank of Singing Water, that will 
be my mother’s friend, Granny Moreland, who joins us on the 
north. She is frank and brusque, so she says what she thinks with 
unmistakable distinctness, but her heart is big and tender and her 
philosophy keeps her sweet and kindly despite the ache of rheu- 
matism and the weight of seventy years.” 

“Td love to have her come,” said the Girl. “Is that all?’ 

iad fig 

“Why?” 

“Your favourite word,” laughed the Harvester. ““The reason 
lies with me, or rather with my mother. Some day I will tell you 


WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE_ 179 


the whole story, and the cause. I think now I can encompass it in 
this: the place is an experiment. When medicinal herbs, roots, 
and barks became so scarce that some of the most important were 
almost extinct, it occurred to me that it would be a good idea to 
stop travelling miles and poaching on the woods of other people, 
and turn our land into an herb garden. For four years before 
mother went, and six since, I’ve worked with all my might, and 
results are beginning to take shape. While I’ve been at it, of 
course, my neighbours had an inkling of what was going on, so 
I’ve been called a fool, lazy, and a fanatic, because I did not fell 
the trees and plow for corn. You readily can see I’m a little short 
of corn ground out there,” he waved toward the marsh and lake, 
“and up there,” he indicated the steep hill and wood. “But some- 
where on this land I’ve been able to find muck for mallows, water 
for flags and willows, shade for ferns, lilies, and ginseng, rocky, 
sunny spaces for mullein, and open, fertile beds for Bouncing Bet 
—just for examples. God never evolved a place better suited for 
an herb farm; from woods to water and all that goes between, it 
is perfect.” 

“And indescribably lovely,’ added the Girl. 

“Yes, I think it is,” said the Harvester. “But in the days when I 
didn’t know how it was coming out, I was sensitive about it; so I 
kept quiet and worked, and allowed the other fellow to do the 
talking. After a while the ginseng bed grew a treasure worth 
guarding, so I didn’t care for any one to know how much I had 
or where it was, as a matter of precaution. Ginseng and money 
are synonymous, and I was forced to be away some of the time.” 

“Would any one take it?” 

“Certainly!” said the Harvester. “If they knew it was there, 
and what it is worth. Then, as I’ve told you, much of the stuff 
here must not be handled except by experts, and I didn’t want 
people coming in my absence and taking risks. ‘The remainder of 
my reason for living so alone is cowardice, pure and simple.” 

““Cowardice? You! Oh no!” 

“Thank you!” said the Harvester. “But it is! Some day I'll tell 
you of a very solemn oath I’ve had to keep. It hasn’t been easy. 
You wouldn’t understand, at least not now. If the day ever comes 


180 THE HARVESTER 


when I think you will, T’ll tell you. Just now I can express it by 
that one word. I didn’t dare fail or I felt I would be lost as my 
father was before me. So I remained away from the city and its 
temptations and men of my age, and worked in the woods until I 
was tired enough to drop, read books that helped, tinkered with 
the carving, and sometimes I had an idea, so I went into that little 
building behind the dry-house, took out my different herbs, and 
tried my hand at compounding a new cure for some of the pains 
of humanity. It isn’t bad work, Ruth, It keeps a fellow at a fairly 
decent level, while some good may come of it. Carey is trying 
several formule for me, and if they work I'll carry them higher. 
If you want money, Girl, I know how to get it for you.” 

“Don’t you want it?” 

“Not one cent more than I’ve got,” said the Harvester em- 
phatically. “When any man accumulates more than he can earn 
with his own hands, he begins to enrich himself at the expense of 
the youth, the sweat, the blood, the joy of his fellow men. I can 
go to the city, take a look, and see what money does, as a rule, 
and it’s another thing I’m afraid of. You will find me a dreadful 
coward on those two points. I don’t want to know society and its 
ways. I see what it does to other men; it would be presumption to 
reckon myself stronger. So I live alone. As for money, I’ve 
watched the cross cuts and the quick and easy ways to accumulate 
it; but I’ve had something in me that held me to the slow, sure, 
clean work of my own hands, and it’s yielded me enough for one, 
for two even, in a reasonable degree. So I’ve worked, read, com- 
pounded, and carved. If I couldn’t wear myself down enough to 
sleep by any other method, I went into the lake, and swam across 
and back; and that is guaranteed to put any man to rest, clean 
and unashamed.” 

“Six years,” said the Girl softly, as she studied him. “I think it 
has set a mark on you. I believe I can trace it. Your forehead, 
brow, and eyes bear the lines and the appearance of all experi- 
ence, all comprehension, but your lips are those of a very young 
lad. I shouldn’t be surprised if I had that kiss ready for you, and 
I really believe I can make it worth while.” 

“Oh good Lord!” cried the Harvester, turning a backward 








WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE 181 


somersault over the railing and starting in big bounds up the 
drive toward the stable. He passed around it and into the woods 
at a rush. A few seconds later from somewhere on the top of the 
hill his strong, deep voice swept down: “Glory, glory hallelujah!” 

By and by he came soberly to the barn and paused to stroke 
Betsy’s nose. “Stop chewing grass and listen to me,” he said. 
“‘She’s here, Betsy! She’s in our cabin. She’s going to remain, you 
can stake your oats on that. She’s going to be the loveliest and 
sweetest girl in all the world, and because you’re a beast, [’ll tell 
you something a man never could know. Down with your ear, 
you critter! She’s going to kiss me, Betsy! This very night, before 
I lay me, her lips meet mine, and maybe you think that won’t be 
glorious. I supposed it would be a year, anyway, but it’s now! 
Ain’t you glad you are an animal, Betsy, and can keep secrets for 
a fool man who can’t?” He walked down the driveway, and be- 
fore the girl had a chance to speak, he said: “I wonder if I had 
not better carry those things into your room, and arrange your 
bed for you?” 

“T can,” she said. 

“Oh no!” exclaimed the Harvester. “You can’t lift the mat- 
tress and heavy covers. Hold the door and tell me how.” He laid 
a big bundle on the floor, opened it, and took out the shoes. 
“Your shoe box is in the closet there.” 

“T didn’t know what that door was, so I didn’t open it.” 

“That is a part of my arrangements for you,” said the Har- 
vester. “Here is a closet with shelves for your covers and other 
things. They are bare because I didn’t know what should be put 
on them. This is the shoe box here in the corner; I'll put: these in 
it now.” He knelt and in a row set the shoes in the curly maple 
box and closed it. “There you are for all kinds of places and 
weather. This adjoining is your bathroom. I put in towels, soaps, 
and everything I could think of, and there is hot water ready for 
you—rain water, too.” 

The Girl followed to see a shining little bathroom, with its 
white porcelain tub and wash bowl, enamelled woodwork, dainty 
green walls, and white curtains. She could see no accessory she 
knew of that was missing. The Harvester had gone back to the 


182 THE HARVESTER 


sunshine room, and was kneeling on the floor beside the bundle. 
He began opening boxes and handing her dresses. 

“There are skirt, coat, and waist hangers on the hooks,’ he 
said. “I only got a few things to start on, because I didn’t know 
what you would like. Instead of being so careful with that dress, 
why don’t you take it off, and put on a common one? Then we 
will have something to eat, and go to the top of the hill to see the 
moon bridge the lake.” 

While she hung the dresses and selected the one to wear, he 
placed the mattress, spread the padding and sheets, and encased 
the pillow. Then he bent and pressed the springs with his hands. 
“I think you will find that soft and easy enough for health,” he 
said. “All the personal belongings I had that clerk put up for you 
are in that chest of drawers there. I put the little boxes in the top 
and went down. You can empty and arrange them tomorrow. 
Just hunt out what you will need now. There should be every- 
thing a girl uses there somewhere. I told them to be very careful 
about that. If the things are not right or not to your taste, you 
can take them back as soon as you are rested, and they will ex- 
change them for you. If there is anything I have missed that you 
can think of that you need to-night, tell me and I’ll go and get it.” 

The Girl turned toward him. 

“You couldn’t be making sport of me,” she said, “but Man! 
Can’t you see that I don’t know what to do with half you have 
here? I never saw such things closely before. I don’t know what 
they are for. I don’t know how to use them. My mother would 
have known, but I do not. You overwhelm me! F ifty times I’ve 
tried to tell you that a room of my very own, such a room as this 
will be when to-morrow’s sun comes in, and these, and these, and 
these,” she turned from the chest of boxes to the dressing table, 
bed, closet, and bath, “all these for me, and you know absolutely 
nothing about me—I get a big lump in my throat, and the words 
that do come all seem so meaningless, I am perfectly ashamed to 
say them. Oh Man, why do you do it?” 

“I thought it was about time to spring another ‘why’ on me,” 
said the Harvester. “Thank God, I am now ina position where I 
can tell you ‘why!’ I do it because you are the girl of my dream, 


WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE __ 183 


my mate by every law of Heaven and earth. All men build as well 
as they know when the one woman of the universe lays her spell 
on them. I did all this for myself—merely as a kind of expression 
of what it would be in my heart to do if I could do what I'd like. 
Put on the easiest dress you can find while I go and set out some- 
thing to eat.” 

She stood with arms high piled with the prettiest dresses that 
could be selected hurriedly, the tears running down her white 
cheeks and smiled through them at him. 

“There wouldn’t be any of that liquid amber would there?” 
she asked. 

“Quarts!” cried the Harvester. “Tl bring some. . . . Does it 
really hit the spot, Ruth?’ he questioned as he handed her the 
glass. 

She heaped the dresses on the bed and took it. 

“Tt really does. I am afraid I am using too much.” 

“T think it can’t hurt you. To-morrow we will ask Doc. How 
soon will you be ready for lunch?” 

“TI don’t want a bite.” 

“You will when you see and smell it,”’ said the Harvester. “I 
am an expert cook. It’s my chiefest accomplishment. You should 
taste the dishes I improvise. But there won’t be much to-night, 
because I want you to see the moon rise over the lake.””’ He went 
away. The Girl removed her dress, spreading it on the couch. 
Then she bathed her face and hands. When she saw the dis- 
coloured cloth, it proved that she had been painted; this made 
her very indignant. Yet she could not be altogether angry, for 
that flush of colour had saved the Harvester from being pitied by 
his friend. She stood a long time before the mirror, staring at her 
gaunt, colourless face; then she went to the dressing table and 
committed a crime. She found a box of cream and rubbed it on 
for a foundation. Then she opened some pink powder, and care- 
fully dusted her cheeks. 

“T am utterly ashamed,” she said to the image in the mirror, 
“but he has done so much for me, he is so, so—I don’t know a 
word big enough—that I can’t bear him to see how ghastly I am, 
how little worth it. Perhaps the food, better air, and outdoor ex- 


184. THE HARVESTER 


ercise will give me strength and colour soon. Until it does I’m 
afraid I’m going to help out all I can with this. It is wonderful 
how it changes one. I really appear like a girl instead of a bony 
old woman.” 

Then she looked over the dresses, selected a pretty white prin- 
cesse, slipped it on, and went to the kitchen. But the Harvester 
would not have her there. He seated her at the dining table, be- 
side the window overlooking the lake, lighted a pair of his home- 
made candles in his finest sticks, and placed before her bread, 
butter, cold meat, milk, and fruit, and together they ate their 
first meal in their home. 

“If I had known,” said the Harvester, “Granny Moreland is a 
famous cook. She is a Southern woman, who can fry chicken and 
make some especial dishes to surpass any one I ever knew. She 
would have been so pleased to come over and get us an all-right 
supper.” 

“T’d much rather be by ourselves,” said the Girl. 

“Well, you can bank on it, I would,” agreed the Harvester. 
“For instance, if any one were here, I might feel restrained about 
telling you that you are exactly the beautiful, flushed Dream Girl 
I have adored for months, while your dress is most becoming. 
You are a picture to blind the eyes of a lonely bachelor, Ruth.” 

“Oh why did you say that?” wailed the Girl. “Now I’ve got to 
feel like a sneak or tell you—and I didn’t want you to know.” 

“Don’t you ever tell me or any one else anything you don’t 
want to,” said the Harvester roundly. “It’s nobody’s business!” 

“But I must! I can’t begin with deception. I was fool enough 
to think you wouldn’t notice. Man, they painted me! I didn’t 
know they were doing it, but when it all washed off, I looked 
so ghastly I almost frightened myself. I hunted through the boxes 
they put up for you and found some pink powder se 

“But don’t all the daintiest women powder these days, and 
consider it indispensable? The clerk said so. I bought it for you 
to use.” 

“Yes, just powder, but Man, I put on a lot of cold cream first 
to stick the powder good and thick. Oh I wish I hadn’t!” 

“Well since you’ve told it, is your conscience perfectly at ease? 





WHEN THE DREAM GAME TRUE _ 185 


No you don’t! You sit where you are! You are lovely, and if you 
don’t use enough powder to cover the paleness, until your colour 
returns, Ill hold you and put it on. I know you feel better when 
you appear so that every one must admire you.” 

“Yes, but I’m a fraud!” 

“You are no such thing!” cried the Harvester hotly. “There 
hasn’t a woman in ten thousand got any such rope of hair. I have 
been seeing the papers on the hair question, too. No one will 
believe it’s real. If they think your hair is false, when it is natural, 
they won’t be any more fooled when they think your colour is 
real, and it isn’t. Very soon it will be so no one need ever know 
the difference. You go on and fix up your level best. ‘To see your- 
self appearing well will make you ambitious to become so as soon 
as possible.” 

“Harvester-man,” said the Girl, gazing at him with wet lumi- 
nous eyes, “for the sake of other women, I could wish that all 
men had an oath to keep, and had been reared in the woods.” 

“Here is the place we adjourn to the moon!” cried the Har- 
vester. “I don’t know of anything that can cure a sudden acces- 
sion of swell head like gazing at the heavens. One finds his place 
among the atoms naturally and instantaneously with the eyes on 
the night sky. Should you have a wrap? You should! The mists 
from the lake are cool. I don’t believe there is one among my 
orders. I forgot that. But upstairs with mother’s clothing there 
are several shawls and shoulder capes. All of them were washed 
and carefully packed. Would you use one, Ruth?” 

“Why not give it to me? Wouldn’t she like me to use her things 
better than to have them in moth balls?” 

The Harvester looked at her wonderingly. 

“T can’t tell how pleased she would be,” he said. 

“Where are her belongings?” asked the Girl. “I could use them 
to help furnish the house, then it wouldn’t appear so strange to 
you.” 

“All the washed things are in those boxes upstairs; also some 
fine skins I’ve saved on the chance of wanting them. Her dishes 
are in the bottom of the china closet there; she was mighty proud 
of them. The furniture and carpets were so old and abused I 


186 THE HARVESTER 


burned them. I’ll go bring a wrap.” He took the candle and 
climbed the stairs, soon returning with a little white wool shawl 
and a big pink coverlet. “Got this for her Christmas one time,” 
he said. “‘She’d never had a white one so she thought it was 
pretty.” He folded it around the Girl’s shoulders, then picked up 
the coverlet. 

“You’re never going to take that to the woods!” she cried. 

“Why not?” 

She took it in her hands to find a corner. 

“Just as I thought! It’s a genuine Peter Hartman! It’s one of 
the things that money can’t buy, or rather, one that takes a mint 
of money to own. They are heirlooms. They are not manufac- 
tured any more. At the art store where I worked they’d give you 
fifty dollars for that. It is not faded or worn a particle. It would 
be lovely in my room; you mustn’t take a treasure like that out 
of doors.” | 

“Ruth, are you in earnest?” demanded the Harvester. “I be- 
lieve there are six of them upstairs.” 

“Plutocrat!”? cried the Girl. “What colours?” 

“More of this pinkish red, blue, and pale green.” 

“Famous! May I have them to help furnish with?” 

“Certainly! Anything you can find, any way on earth you want 
it, only in my room. That is taboo, as I told you. What am I 
going to take to-night?” 

“Isn’t the rug you had in the woods in the wagon yet? Use 
that!’ 

“Of course! The very thing! Bel, proceed 

‘Are you going to leave the house like this?” 

“Why not?” 

“Suppose some one breaks in!” 

“Nothing worth carrying away, except what you have on. No 
one to get in. There is a big swamp back of our woods, marsh in 
front, we’re up here where we can see the drive and bridge. ‘There 
is nothing possible from any direction. Never locked the cabin in 
my life, except your room, and that was because it was sacred, 
not that there was any danger. Clear the way, Bel!” 

“Clear it of what?” 


}>? 





WHEN THE DREAM GAME TRUE _ 187 


“Katydids, hoptoads, and other carnivorous animals.” 

“Now you are making fun of me! Clear it of what?” 

“A coon that might go shuffling across, an opossum, or a snake 
going to the lake. Now are you frightened so that you will not 

0?” 

“No. The path is broad and white. Surely you and Bel can take 
care of me.” 

“Tf you will trust us we can.” 

“Well, I am trusting you.” 

“You are indeed,” said the Harvester. ‘Now see if you think 
this is pretty.” 

He indicated the hill sloping toward the lake. The path wound 
among massive trees, between whose branches patches of moon- 
light filtered. Around the lake shore and climbing the hill were 
thickets of bushes. The water lay shining in the light, a gentle 
wind ruffled the surface in undulant waves, while on the opposite 
bank arose the line of big trees. Under a giant oak widely branch- 
ing, on the top of the hill, the Harvester spread the rug and held 
one end of it against the tree trunk to protect the Girl’s dress. 
Then he sat a short distance away and began to talk. He mingled 
some sense with a quantity of nonsense, and appreciated every 
hint of a laugh he heard. The day had been no amusing matter 
for a girl absolutely alone among strange people and scenes. Any- 
thing more foreign to her previous environment or expectations 
he could not imagine. So he talked to prevent her from thinking, 
and worked for a laugh as he usually laboured for bread. 

“Now we must go,” he said at last. “If there is the malaria I 
strongly suspect in your system, this night air is bad for you. I 
only wanted you to see the lake the first night in your new home, 
and if it won’t shock you, I brought you here because this is my 
holy of holies. Can you guess why I wanted you to come, Ruth?” 

“If I wasn’t so stupid with alternate burning and chills, and so 
deadened to every proper sensibility, I suppose I should,” she 
answered, “but I’m not brilliant. I don’t know, unless it is be- 
cause you knew it would be the loveliest place I ever saw. Surely 
there is no other spot in the world quite so beautiful.” 

“Then would it seem strange to you,” asked the Harvester, 


188 THE HARVESTER 


going to the Girl and gently putting his arms around her, “would 
it seem strange to you, that a woman who once homed here and 
thought it the prettiest place on earth, chose to remain for her 
eternal sleep, rather than to rest in a distant city of stranger 
dead?” 

He felt the Girl tremble against him. 

“Where is she?” 

“Very close,” said the Harvester. “Under this oak. She used to 
Say that she had a speaking acquaintance with every tree on our 
land, and of them all she loved this big one the best. She liked to 
come here in winter, to feel the sting of the wind sweeping across 
the lake, while in summer this was her place to read and to think. 
So when she slept the unwaking sleep, Ruth, I came here and 
made her bed with my own hands; then carried her to it, covered 
her, and she sleeps well. I never have regretted her going. Life 
did not bring her joy. She was very tired. She used to say that 
after her soul had fled, if I would lay her here, perhaps the big 
roots would reach down to her, and from her frail frame gather 
slight nourishment so that her body would live again in talking 
leaves that would shelter me in summer and whisper her love in 
winter. Of all Medicine Woods this is the dearest spot to me. Can 
you love it too, Ruth?” 

“Oh I can!” cried the Girl; “I do now! Just to see the place 
and hear that is enough. I wish, oh to my soul I wish 7 

“You wish what?” whispered the Harvester gently. 

“I dare not! I was wild to think of it. I would be ungrateful 
to ask it.” 

“You would be ungracious if you didn’t ask anything that 
would give me the joy of pleasing you. How long is it going to 
require for you to learn, Ruth, that to make up for some of the 
difficulties life has brought you would give me more happiness 
than anything else could? Tell me now.” 

“No 1h 

He gathered her closer. “Ruth, there is no reason why you 
should be actively unkind to me. What is it you wish?” 

She struggled from his arms and stood alone in white moon- 
light, staring across the lake, along the shore, deep into the per- 











WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE_ 189 


fumed forest, and then at the mound she now could distinguish 
under the giant tree. Suddenly she went to him and with shaking 
hands gripped his arm. 

‘““My mother!” she panted. “Oh she was a beautiful woman, 
delicately reared, and her heart was broken. By the inch she went 
to a dreadful end I could not avert or allay, while in poverty and 
grime I fought for a way to save her body from further horror, 
and it’s all so dreadful. I thought all feeling in me was dried and 
still, but I am not quite calloused yet. I suffer it over with every 
breath. It is never entirely out of my mind. Oh Man, if only you 
would lift her from the horrible place she lies, where briers run 
riot and cattle trample and the unmerciful sun beats! Oh if only 
you’d lift her from it, and bring her here! I believe it would take 
away some of the horror, the shame, and the heartache. I believe 
I could go to sleep without hearing the voice of her suffering, if 
I knew she was lying on this hill, under your beautiful tree, close 
the dear mother you love. Oh Man, would you at 

The Harvester crushed the Girl in his arms while shuddering 
sobs shook his big frame, and choked his voice. 

“Ruth, for God’s sake, be quiet!’ he cried. “Why Id be glad 
to! I'll go anywhere you tell me, and bring her.” 

She stared at him with strained face. 

“You—you wouldn’t!” she breathed. 

“Ruth, child,” said the Harvester, “I tell you P’'d be happy. 
Look at my side of this! I’m in search of bands to bind you to me 
and to this place. Could you tell me a stronger than to have the 
mother you idolized lie here for her long sleep? Why Girl, you 
can’t know the deep and abiding joy it would give me to bring 
her. I'd feel I had you almost secure. Where is she, Ruth?” 

“In that old unkept cemetery south of Onabasha, where it 
costs no money to lay away your loved ones.” 

“Close here! Why I'll go to-morrow! I supposed she was in the 
city.” 

She straightened and drew away from him. 

“How could I? I had nothing. I could not have paid even her 
fare and brought her here in the cheapest box the decency of man 
would allow him to make if her doctor had not given me the 





190 PEE HARVEST OR 


money I owe. Now do you understand why I must earn and pay 
it myself! Save for him, it was charity or her delicate body to 
horrors. Money never can repay him.” 

“Ruth, the day you came to Onabasha was she with you?” 

“In the express car,” said the Girl. 

“Where did you go when you left the train shed?” 

“Straight to the baggage room, where Uncle Henry was wait- 
ing. Men brought and put her in his wagon. He drove with me 
to the place, other men lowered her, and that was all.” 

“You poor Girl!” cried the Harvester. “This time to-morrow 
night she shall sleep in luxury under this oak, so help me God! 
Ruth, can you spare me? May I go at once? I can’t rest, myself.” 

“You will?” cried the Girl. “You will? Oh Man, I can’t ever, 
ever tell you!” 

“Don’t try,” said the Harvester. “Call it settled. I will start 
early in the morning. I know that little cemetery. The man whose 
land it is on can point me the spot. She is probably the last one 
laid there. Come now, Ruth. Go to the room I made for you, and 
sleep deeply and in peace. Will you try to rest?” 

“Oh David!” she exulted. ‘“‘Only think! Here where it’s clean 
and cool; beside the lake, where leaves fall gently and I can come 
and sit close to her and bring flowers; and she never will be alone, 
for your dear mother is here. Oh David!” 

“It is better. I can’t thank you enough for thinking of it. Come 
now, let me help you.” 

He half carried her down the hill. Then he made the cabin a 
glamour of light by putting candles in the sticks he had carved 
and placing them everywhere. 

‘There is a lighting plant in the basement,” he said, “but I 
had not expected to use it until winter, so I have no acetylene. 
Candles were our grandmothers’ lights and they are the best any- 
way. Go bathe your face, Ruth, and wash away all trace of tears. 
Put on the pink powder, and in a few weeks you will have colour 
to outdo the wildest rose. You must be as gay as you can the 
remainder of this night.” 

“I will!” cried the Girl. “I will! Oh I didn’t know a thing on 
earth could make me happy! I didn’t know I really could be glad. 


WHEN THE DREAM GAME TRUE Ig! 


Oh if the ice in my heart would melt, and the wall break down, 
and the girlhood I’ve never known would come yet! Oh David, 
if it would!” 

“Before the Lord it shall!’ vowed the Harvester. “It shall come 
with the fulness of joy right here in Medicine Woods. Think it! 
Believe it! Keep it before you! Work for it! Happiness is worth 
while! All of us have a right to it! It shall be yours and soon.” 

“JT will try! I will!’ promised the Girl. “Tl go right now and 
I'll put on the blessed pink powder so thickly you’ll never know 
what is under it, and soon it won’t be needed at all.” 

She was laughing as she left the room. The Harvester restlessly 
walked the floor a few minutes, then sat with a note-book and 
began entering items. 

When the Girl returned, he brought the pillow from her bed, 
folded the coverlet, and she lay in the big swing. He covered her 
with the white shawl, and while Singing Water sang its loudest, 
katydids exulted over the delightful act of their ancestor, and a 
million gauze-winged creatures of night hummed against the 
screen, in a voice soft and low he told her in a steady stream, as 
he swayed her back and forth, what each sound of the night was, 
how and why it was made, all the way from the rumbling buzz 
of the June bug to the screech of the owl or the splash of the bass 
in the lake. All of it, as it appealed to him, was the story of steady 
evolution, the natural processes of reproduction, the joy of life 
and its battles, and the conquest of the strong in nature. At his 
hands every sound was stripped of terror. The leaping bass was 
exulting in life, the screeching owl was telling its mate it had 
found a fat mouse for the children, the nighthawk was courting, 
the big bullfrogs booming around the lake were serenading the 
moon. There was not a thing to fear or a voice left with an un- 
sympathetic note in it. She was half asleep when at last he helped 
her to her room, set a pitcher of frosty, clinking drink on her 
table, locked her door and window screens inside, spread Bel- 
shazzar’s blanket on her porch, and set his door wide open, that 
he might hear if she called; then said good night and went back 
to his memorandum book. 

“No bad beginning,” he muttered softly, “no bad beginning, 


192 THE HARVESTER 





but I'd almost give my right hand if she hadn’t forgotten 4 

_ In her room the exhausted girl slipped the pins from her hair 
and sank on the low chair before the dressing table. She picked 
up the shining, silver backed brush and stared at the monogram, 
R.J.L., entwined on it. 

“My soul!” she exclaimed. “Was he so sure as that?” 

She dropped the brush and with tired hands pushed back the 
heavy braids. Then she arose and going to the chest of drawers 
began lifting lids to find a night robe. As she searched the boxes 
she found every dainty, pretty undergarment a girl ever used and 
at last the robes. She shook out a long white one, slipped into it, 
and walked to the bed. That stood as he had arranged it, white, 
clean, and dainty. 

“Everything for me!’ she said softly. “Everything for me! 
Shall there be nothing for him? Oh he makes it easy, easy!” 

She stepped to the closet, picked down a lavender silk kimono 
and drawing it over her gown she gathered it around her, and 
opening the bathroom door, she stepped into a hall leading to the 
dining-room. As she entered the living-room the Harvester bent 
over his book. Her step was very close when he heard it and 
turned his head. In an instant she touched his shoulders. The 
Harvester dropped the pencil, and palm downward laid his hands 
on the table, his promise strong in his heart. The Girl slid a shak- 
ing palm under his chin, leaned his head against her breast, and 
dropped a sweet, tear-wet face on his. With all the strength of her 
frail arms she gripped him a second, then gave the kiss, into 
which she tried to put all she could find no words to express, 








CHAPTER, ALYV 


Snowy Wings 


Tue Harvester sat at the table in deep thought, until the lights 
in the Girl’s room were darkened and everything was quiet. 
Then he locked the screens inside and went into the night. ‘The 
moon flooded all the hillside, so that coarse print could have 
been read with keen eyes in its light. A restlessness, born of exul- 
tation he could not allay or control, was on him. She had not 
forgotten! After this, the dream would be effaced by reality. It 
was the beginning. He scarcely had dared hope for so much. 
Surely it presaged the love with which she some day would come 
to him and crown his life. He walked softly up and down the 
drive, passing her windows, unable to think of sleep. Over and 
over he dwelt on the incidents of the day, so inevitably he came 
to his promise. 

“Merciful Heaven!” he muttered. “How can such things hap- 
pen? The poor, overworked, suffering girl! It will give her some 
comfort. It has to be done. I believe I will do the worst part of it 
while she sleeps.”’ 

He went to the cabin, crept very close one of her windows and 
listened intently. Surely no mortal awake could lie motionless so 
long. She must be sleeping. He patted Belshazzar, whispered, 
“Watch, boy, watch for your life!’ and then crossed to the dry- 
house. Beside it he found a big roll of coffee sacks that he used in 
collecting roots, and going to the barn, he took a spade and mat- 
tock. Then he climbed the hill to the oak; in the white moon- 


194 THE HARVESTER 


light laid off his measurements and began work. His heart was 
very tender as he lifted the earth, and threw it into the tops of 
the big bags he had propped open. “I’ll line it with a couple of 
sheets and finish the edge with pond lilies and ferns,” he planned, 
“and [ll drag this earth from sight, and cover it with brush until 
I need it.” 

Sometimes he paused in his work to rest a few minutes, then he 
stood and glanced around him. Several times he went down the 
hil and slipped to a window, but he could not hear a sound. 
When his work was finished, he stood before the oak, scraping 
clinging earth from the mattock with which he had cut roots he 
had been compelled to remove. He was tired now and he thought 
he would go to his room and sleep until daybreak. As he turned 
the implement he remembered how through it he had found hier, 
and now he was using it in her service. He smiled as he worked, 
half listening to the steady roll of sound encompassing him. A cool 
breath swept from the lake, so he wondered if it found her wet, 
hot cheek. A wild duck in the rushes below gave an alarm signal. 
It ran in subdued voice, note by note, along the shore. The Har- 
vester gripped the mattock and stood motionless. Wild things had 
taught him so many lessons he heeded their warnings instinc- 
tively. Perhaps it was a mink or muskrat approaching the rushes. 
Listening intently, he heard a stealthy step coming up the path 
behind him. 

The Harvester waited. He soundlessly moved around the trunk 
of the big tree. An instant more the night prowler stopped 
squarely at the head of the open grave, then jumped back with 
an oath. He stood tense a second, advanced, scratched a match 
and dropped it into the depths of the opening. That instant the 
Harvester recognized Henry Jameson. With a spring he landed 
between the man’s shoulders and sent him, face down, headlong 
into the grave. He snatched one of the sacks of earth, and tipping 
it, emptied the contents on the head and shoulders of the pros- 
trate man. Then he dropped on him and feeling across his back 
took an ugly, big revolver from a pocket. He swung to the sur- 
face and waited until Henry Jameson crawled from under the 
weight of earth and began to rise; then, at each attempt, he 





SNOWY WINGS 195 


knocked him down. At last he caught the exhausted man by the 
collar and dragged him to the path, where he dropped him and 
stood gloating. 

“So!” he said; “It’s you! Coming to execute your threat, are 
you? What’s the matter with my finishing you, loading your car- 
cass with a few stones into this sack, and dropping you in the 
deepest part of the lake.” 

There was no reply. 

“‘Ain’t you a little hasty?’ asked the Harvester. “Isn’t it rather 
cold blooded to come sneaking when you thought I'd be asleep? 
Don’t you think it would be low down to kill a man on his wed- 
ding day?” 

Jameson arose cautiously and faced the Harvester. 

“Who have you killed?” he panted. 

“No one,” answered the Harvester. ““This is for the victim of 
a member of your family, but I never dreamed I’d have the joy 
of planting any of you in it first, even temporarily. Did you rest 
well? What I should have done was to fill it in, and leave you at 
the bottom.” 

Jameson retreated a few steps. The Harvester laughed and 
advanced the same distance. 

“Now then,” he said, “explain what you are doing on my 
premises, a few hours after your threat, and armed with another 
revolver before I could return the one I took from you this after- 
noon. You must grow them on bushes at your place, they seem so 
numerous. Speak up! What are you doing here?’ 

‘There was no answer. 

“There are three things it might be,” mused the Harvester: 
“You might think to harm me, but you’re watched on that score 
and I don’t believe you’d enjoy the result sure to follow. You 
might contemplate trying to steal Ruth’s money again, but we'll 
pass that up. You might want to go through my woods to inform 
yourself as to what I have of value there. But in all probability, 
you are after me. Well, here I am. Go ahead! Do what you came 
to!’ The Harvester stepped toward the lake bank and Jameson, 
turning to watch him, exposed a face ghastly through its grime. 
“Took here!” cried the Harvester, sickening. “We will end this 


39 


196 THE HARVESTER 


right now. I was rather busy this afternoon, but I wasn’t too hur- 
ried to take that little weapon of yours to the chief of police and 
tell him where and how I got it and what occurred. He was to 
return it to you to-morrow with his ultimatum. When I have 
added the history of to-night, reinforced by another gun, he will 
understand your intentions and know where you belong. You 
should be confined, but because your name is the same as the 
Girl’s, and there is of your blood in her veins, I’ll give you one 
more chance. [’ll let you go this time, but I’ll report you, and 
deliver this implement to be added to your collection at head- 
quarters. And [ tell you, and I'll tell them, that if ever I find you 
on my premises again, I’ll finish you on sight. Is that clear?” 

Jameson nodded. 

“What I should do is to plump you squarely into confinement, 
as I could easily enough, but that’s not my way. I am going to let 
you off, but you go knowing the law. One thing more: don’t 
leave with any distorted ideas in your head. I saw Ruth the day 
she stepped from the cars in Onabasha and I loved her. I wanted 
to court and marry her, as any man would the girl he loves, but 
you spoiled that with your woman killing brutality. So I married 
her in Onabasha this afternoon. You can see the records at the 
county clerk’s office and interview the minister who performed 
the ceremony, if you doubt me. Ruth is in her room, comfortable 
as I can make her, asleep and unafraid, thank God! This grave is 
for her mother. The Girl wants her lifted from the horrible place 
you put her, and laid where it is sheltered and pleasant. Now, I'll 
see you off my land. Hurry yourself!” 

With the Harvester following, Henry Jameson went back over 
the path he had come, until he reached and mounted the horse 
he had ridden. As the Harvester watched him, Jameson turned in 
the saddle and spoke for the second time. 

“What will you give me in cold cash to tell you who she is, and 
where her mother’s people are?” 

The Harvester leaped for the bridle and missed. Jameson bent 
over the horse and lashed it to a run. Halfway to the oak the 
Harvester remembered the revolver, but being unaccustomed to 
weapons, he had forgotten it when he needed it most. He re- 





SNOWY WINGS 197 


placed the earth in the sack and dragged it away, then plunged 
into the lake, and afterward went to bed, where he slept soundly 
until dawn. First, he slipped into the living-room and wrote a 
note to the Girl. Then he fed Belshazzar and ate a hearty break- 
fast. He stationed the dog at her door, gave him the note, and 
went to the oak. There he arranged everything neatly and as he 
desired, and then hitching Betsy he quietly guided her down the 
drive and over the road to Onabasha. He went to an undertaking 
establishment, made all his arrangements, and then called up and 
talked with the minister who had performed the marriage cere- 
mony the previous day. 

The sun shining in her face awoke Ruth, she revelled in the 
light. “Maybe it will colour me faster than the powder,” she 
thought. “How peculiar for him to say what he did! I always 
thought men detested it. But he is not like any one else.”’ She lay 
looking around the beautiful room and wondering where the 
Harvester was. She could not hear him. Then, slowly and pain- 
fully, she dragged her aching limbs from the bed and went to the 
door. The dog was gone from the porch and she could not see the 
man at the stable. She selected a frock and putting it on opened 
the door. Belshazzar arose and offered this letter: 


DeEsR RUTH: 

I have gone to keep my promise. You are locked in with Bel. 
Please obey me and do not step outside the door until four o’clock. 
Then put on a pretty white dress, and with the dog, come to the 
bridge to meet me. I hope you will not suffer and fret. Put away your 
clothing, arrange the rooms to keep busy, or better yet, lie in the 
swing and rest. There is food in the ice chest, pantry, and cellar. For- 
give me for leaving you to-day, but I thought you would feel easier 
to have this over. I am so glad to bring your mother here. I hope it 
will make you happy enough to meet us with a smile. Do not forget 
the pink box until the reality comes. 

With love, Davi. 


The Girl went to the kitchen and found food. She offered to 
share with Belshazzar, but she could see from his indifference he 
was not hungry. Then she returned to the room flooded with 


198 THE HARVESTER 


light, and filled with treasures, and tried to decide how she would 
arrange her clothing. She spent hours opening boxes and putting 
dainty, pretty garments in the drawers, hanging the dresses, and 
placing the toilet articles. Often she wearily dropped to the chairs 
and couches, or gazed from door and windows at the pictures 
they framed. “I wonder why he doesn’t want me to go outside,” 
she thought. “I wouldn’t be afraid in the least, with Bel. Pd just 
love to go across to that wonderful little river of Singing Water 
and sit in the shade; but I won’t open the door until four 
o’clock.’”? When she thought of where he had gone, and why, the 
swift tears filled her eyes, but she forced them back and resolutely 
went to investigate the dining-room. Then for two hours she was 
a home builder, with a touch of that homing instinct found in the 
heart of every good woman. First, she looked where the Harvester 
had said the dishes were, and suddenly sat on the floor exulting. 
There were a quantity of old chipped and cracked white ware 
and some gorgeous baking powder prizes; but there were also big 
blue, green, and pink bowls, several large lustre plates, and a 
complete tea set without chip or blemish, two beautiful pitchers, 
and a number of willow pieces. She set the green bowl on the 
dining table, the blue on the living-room, and took the pink her- 
self, while a beautiful yellow one she placed in the dining-room 
window seat. 

“Oh, if I only dared fill them with those lovely flowers!’ She 
stood in the window and gazed longingly toward the lake. “I 
know what colour I'd like to put in each of them,” she said, “‘but 
I promised not to touch anything, and the ones I want most I 
never saw before, and I’m not to go out anyway. I can’t see the 
sense in that, when I’m not at all afraid, but if he does this won- 
derful thing for me I must do what he asks. Oh mother, mother! 
Are you really coming to this beautiful place and to rest at last?” 

She sank to the window seat and lay trembling, but she bravely 
restrained the tears. After a time she remembered the upstairs 
and went to see the coverlets. She found half a dozen beautiful 
ones, and smiled as she examined the stiffly conventionalized birds 
facing each other in the border designs, and in one corner of each 
blanket she read, woven in the cloth: 








SNOWY WINGS 199 


Peter and John 
Hartman 
Wooster, 

Ohio, 
1837 


She took a blue and a green one, several fine skins from the 
fur box the Harvester had told her about, then went downstairs. 
It required all her strength to push the heavy tables before the 
fireplaces. She spread papers on them to stand on, and tacked a 
skin above each mantel. She set all of the candlesticks, except 
those she wanted to use, in the lower part of an empty bookcase. 
A pair of black walnut she placed on the living-room mantel, to- 
gether with a big blue plate, a yellow one, and an old brass 
candlestick. She admired the effect very much. She put the blue 
coverlet on the couch, and arranged the blue bowl and some 
books on the table. Here and there she hung a skin across a chair 
back, or laid it in a wide window seat. Having exhausted all her 
resources, she returned to the dining-room, spread a skin before 
the hearth and in each window seat, set a pink and green lustre 
plate on the mantel, and a pair of oak candlesticks, and arranged 
the lustre tea set on the side table. The pink coverlet she took for 
herself, and after resting a time she was surprised on going back 
to the rooms to see how homelike they appeared. 

At three o’clock she dressed and at almost four unlocked the 
screen, called Belshazzar to her side, and slowly went down the 
drive to the bridge. She had used the pink powder, put on a 
beautiful white dress, carefully arranged her hair, and wore the 
pearl ornament. Once her fingers strayed to the pendant and she 
said softly: “I think both he and mother would like me to wear 
et 

At the foot of the hill she stopped at a bench and sat in the 
shade waiting. Belshazzar stretched beside her, and gazed at her 
with questioning, friendly dog eyes. The Girl looked from Singing 
Water to the lake, and up the hill to make sure it was real. She 
tried to quiet her quivering muscles and nerves. He had asked her 
to meet him with a smile. How could she? He could not have 
understood what it meant when he made the request. There 


200 THE HARVESTER 


never would be any way to make him realize; indeed, why should 
he? The smile must be ready. He had loved his mother deeply; 
yet he had said he did not grieve to lay her to rest. Earth had not 
been kind. Then why should she sorrow for her mother? Again 
life had been not only unkind, but bitterly cruel. 

Belshazzar arose, watching down the drive. The Girl looked 
also. Through the gate and up the levee came a strange proces- 
sion. First walked the Harvester alone, with bared head, carrying 
an armload of white lilies. A carriage containing a man and 
several women followed. Then came a white hearse with snowy 
plumes, and behind that another carriage filled with people, then 
Betsy followed drawing men in the spring wagon. The Girl arose 
and as she stepped to the drive she swayed uncertainly an instant. 

“Gracious Heaven!”’ she gasped. “He is bringing her in white, 
and with flowers and song!” 

Then she lifted her head; with a smile on her lips she went to 
meet him. As she reached his side, he tenderly put an arm around 
her, and came on steadily. 

“Courage Girl!” he whispered. “Be as brave as she was!” 

Around the driveway and up the hill he half carried her, to a 
seat he had placed under the oak. Before her lay the white-lined 
grave. ‘The Harvester arranged his lilies around it. The teams 
stopped at the barn and men came up the hill bearing a white 
burden. Behind them followed the minister who yesterday had 
performed their marriage ceremony, and after him a choir of 
trained singers softly chanting: | 


“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, 
For they shall cease from their labours.” 


“But David,” panted the Girl. “It was mean and poor. That is 
not she!” 

“Hush!” said the Harvester. “It is your mother. The location 
was high and dry; it has been only a short time. We wrapped her 
in white silk, laid her on a soft cushion and pillow, and housed 
her securely. She can sleep well now, Ruth. Listen!” 

Covered with white lilies, slowly the casket sank into earth. At 
its head stood the minister and as it began to disappear, the white 
doves, frightened by the strange conveyances at the stable, came 





———EEE— ——_— se ——— 


SNOWY WINGS 201 


circling above. The minister looked up. He lifted a clear tenor, 
and softly and purely he sang, while at a wave of his hand the 
choir joined him: 


“Oh, come angel band! Oh, come, and around me stand! 
Oh, bear me away on your snowy wings to my immortal home!” 


He uttered a low benediction, and singing, the people turned 
and went downhill. The Harvester gathered the Girl in his arms, 
carrying her to the lake. He laid her in his boat and taking the 
oars sent it along the bank in the shade, through cool, green 
places. 

“Now cry all you choose!”’ he said. 

The overstrained Girl covered her face and sobbed wildly. 
After a time he began talking to her gently, so before she realized 
it, she was listening. 

“Death has been kinder to her than life, Ruth,” he said. “She 
is lying as you saw her last, I think. We lifted her very tenderly, 
wrapped her carefully, and brought her gently as we could. Now 
they shall rest together, those little mothers of ours, to whom men 
were not kind; in their long sleep we must forget, as they have 
forgotten, and forgive, as no doubt they have forgiven. Don’t you 
want to take some lilies to them before we go to the cabin? Right 
there on your left are unusually large ones.” 

The Girl gathered the white flowers. When the last vehicle 
crossed the bridge, the Harvester tied the boat, helping her up 
the hill. The old oak stretched its wide arms above two mounds, 
both moss covered and scattered with flowers. ‘The Girl added her 
lilies, then went to the Harvester, sinking at his feet. 

“Ruth, you shall not!” cried the man. “I simply will not have 
that. Come now, I will bring you back this evening.” 

He helped her to the swing on the veranda. He sat beside her 
while she rested; then they went into the cabin for supper. Soon 
he had her telling what she had found, while he made notes of 
what would yet be required to transform the cabin into a home. 
The Harvester left it to her to decide whether he should roof the 
bridge the next day or make a trip for furnishings. She said he 
had better buy what they needed, then she could make the cabin 
homelike while he worked on the bridge. 


CHAPTER XV 


The Harvester Interprets Life 


SO THEY went through the rooms together; the Girl suggested the 
furnishings she thought necessary, while the Harvester wrote the 
list. The following morning he was eager to have her company, 
but she was very tired, and begged to be allowed to wait in the 
swing, so again he drove away, leaving her with Belshazzar on 
guard. When he had gone, she went through the cabin arranging 
the furniture the best she could, then dressed and went to the 
swinging couch. It was so wide and heavy a light wind rocked it 
gently, while from it she faced the fern and lily carpeted hillside, 
the majesty of big trees of a thousand years, or heard the music 
of Singing Water as it sparkled diamond-like where the sun rays 
struck its flow. 

There were squirrels barking and racing in the big trees or 
over the ground. They crossed the sodded space of lawn and came 
to the top step for nuts, eating them from cunning paws. They 
were living life according to the laws of their nature. She knew 
that their sharp, startling bark was not to frighten her, but to warn 
straying intruders of other species of their kindred from a nest, 
because the Harvester had told her so. He had said their racing 
here and there in wild scramble was a game of tag which she 
found most interesting to observe. 

Birds of brilliant colour flashed everywhere, singing in wild joy, 
or tilted on the rising hedge before her, hunting berries and seeds. 
Their bubbling, spontaneous song was an instinctive outpouring 





[2 BARVESTHER INTERPRETS LIFE 208 


of their joy over mating time, nests, young, much food, and run- 
ning water. Their social, inquiring, short cry was to locate a mate, 
or to call her to good feeding. The sharp wild scream was when 
a hawk passed over, a weasel lurked in the thicket, or a black 
snake sunned on the bushes. She remembered these things, while 
listening intently, trying to interpret every sound as the Har- 
vester did. 

Birds of wide wing hung as if nailed to the sky, or wheeled and 
sailed in grandeur. They were searching the landscape below to 
locate a hare or snake in the waving grass or carrion in the fields. 
The wonderful exhibitions of wing power were their expression of 
exultation in life, just as the song sparrow threatened to rupture 
his throat as he swung on the hedge, while the red bird some- 
where in the thicket whistled so forcefully it sounded as if the 
notes might hurt him. 

On the lake bass splashed in a game with each other. Grebes 
chattered, because they were very social. Ducks dived and gob- 
bled for roots and worms of the lake shore, congratulating each 
other when they were lucky. 

Killdeer cried for slaughter, in plaintive tones, as their white 
breasts gleamed silver-like across the sky. They insisted on the 
death of their ancient enemies, because the deer had trampled 
nests around the shore, roiled the water, spoiled the food hunting, 
and had been unmindful of the laws of feathered folk from the 
beginning. 

Behind the barn imperial cocks crowed challenges of defiance 
to each other and all the world, because they once had worn 
royal turbans on their heads, and ruled the forests, even the ele- 
phants and lions. Happy hens cackled when they deposited an 
egg, or wandered through their park singing the spring egg song. 

Upon the barn Ajax spread and exulted in glittering plumage, 
while screaming viciously. He was sending a wireless plea to the 
forests of Ceylon for a gray mate to come share the ridge pole 
with him, to help him wage red war on the sickening love making 
of the white doves he hated. 

Everything was beautiful, some of it was amusing, all instruc- 
tive, and intensely interesting. The Girl wanted to know about 


204 THE*“*HARV ESTER 


the brown, yellow, and black butterflies sailing from flower to 
flower. She watched big black and gold bees come from the 
forest for pollen or listened to their monotonous bumbling. Her 
first humming bird poised in air, to sip nectar before her aston- 
ished eyes. It was marvellous, but more wonderful to the Girl 
than anything she saw or heard was the fact that because of the 
Harvester’s teachings she now could trace through all of it the or- 
dained processes of the evolution of life. Everything was right in 
its way, all necessary to human welfare, so there was nothing to 
fear, but marvels to learn and pictures to appreciate. She would 
have taken Belshazzar and gone out, but the Harvester had ex- 
acted a promise that she would not. He could see that she was 
coming gradually to a sane and natural view of life and living 
things, so he did not want some sound or creature to frighten her, 
thus spoiling what he had accomplished. So she swayed in the 
swing, trying to interpret sights and sounds as he did. 

Before an hour she realized that she was coming speedily into 
sympathy with the wild life around her; for instead of shivering 
and shrinking at unaccustomed sounds, she was listening espe- 
cially for them, trying to arrive at a sane interpretation; instead 
of the senseless roar of commerce, manufacture, and life of a city, 
she was beginning to appreciate sounds that varied, that carried 
the Song of Life in unceasing measure and absorbing meaning, 
while she was more than thankful for the fresh, pure air, and the 
blessed, God-given light. It seemed to the Girl that there was 
enough sunshine at Medicine Woods for the whole world. 

“Bel,” she said to the dog standing beside her, “it’s a shame to 
separate you from the Medicine Man and pen you here with me. 
It’s a wonder you don’t bite off my head or run away to find him. 
He’s gone to bring more things to make life beautiful. I wanted 
to go with him, but oh Bel, there’s something dreadfully wrong 
with me. I was afraid I’d fall on the streets and frighten and 
shame him. P’m so weak, I scarcely can walk straight across one 
of these big, cool rooms that he has built for me. He can make 
everything beautiful, Bel, a home, rooms, clothing, grounds, and 
life—above everything else he can make life beautiful. He’s so 
splendid and wonderful, with his wide understanding and sane 





THE HARVESTER INTERPRETS LIFE 205 


interpretation and God-like sympathy and patience. Why Bel- 
shazzar, he can do the greatest thing in all the world! He can 
make you forget that the grave annihilates your dear ones by 
hideous processes, and set you to thinking instead that they come 
back to you in whispering leaves and flower perfumes. If I didn’t 
owe him so much that I ought to pay, if this were not so allur- 
ingly beautiful, I'd like to go to the oak and lie beside those dear 
women resting there, and give my tired body to furnish sap for 
strength and leaves for music. He can take its bitterest sting— 
from death, Bel—and that’s the most wonderful thing—in life, 
Bel ° Her voice became silent, her eyes closed; the dog 
stretched himself beside her on guard. It was so the Harvester 
found them when he drove home from the city. He heaped his 
load in the dining-room, stabled Betsy, carried the things he had 
brought where he thought they belonged, then prepared food. 
When she awakened she came to him. 

“How is it going, Girl?’ asked the Harvester. 

“Tt has been lovely !” 

“Do you really mean that your heart is warming a little to 
things here?” 

“Indeed I do! I can’t tell you what a morning I’ve had. There 
have been such myriad things to see and hear. Oh Harvester, can 
you ever teach me what all of it means?” 

“I can right now,” said the Harvester promptly. “It means two 
things, so simple any little child can understand—the love of God 
and the evolution of life. I am not precisely clear as to what I 
mean when I say God. I don’t know whether it is spirit, matter, 
or force; it is that big thing that brings forth worlds, establishes 
their orbits, and gives us heat, light, food, and water. To me, that 
is God and His love. Just that we are given birth, sheltered, pro- 
visioned, and endowed for our work. Evolution is the natural 
consequence of this. It is the plan steadily unfolding. If I were 
you, I wouldn’t bother my head over these questions; they never 
have been scientifically explained to the beginning; I doubt if 
they ever will be, because they start with the origin of matter 
which is too far beyond man for him to penetrate. Enjoy to the 
depths of your soul—that’s worship. Be thankful for everything— 





206 THE HARVESTER 


that’s praising God as the birds praise Him. And ‘do unto others’ 
—that’s all there is of love and religion combined.” 

“You should tell the world that!” 

“No! It isn’t my vocation,” said the Harvester. ‘““My work is to 
provide pain-killer. I don’t believe, Ruth, that there is any one 
on the footstool who is doing a better job along that line. I am 
boastfully proud of it—proud of sending in the packages that kill 
fever, refresh poor blood, and strengthen weak hearts; unadulter- 
ated, honest weight, fresh, and scrupulously clean. My neigh- 
bours have a different name for it; I call it a man’s work.” 

“Every one who understands must,” said the Girl. “I wish I 
could help with that. I feel as if it would do more to wipe out the 
pain I’ve suffered and seen her endure than anything else. Man, 
when I grow strong enough I want to help you. I believe that I 
am going to love it here.” , 

“Don’t ever suppress your feelings, Ruth!” hastily cried the 
Harvester. “It will be very bad for you. You will become wrought 
up, and ‘het up,’ as Granny Moreland says, which will make you 
very ill. When we drive the fever from your blood, the ache from 
your bones, the poison of wrong conditions from your soul, and 
good, healthy, red corpuscles begin pumping through your heart 
like a windmill, you can stake your life you’re going to love it 
here. And the location and work are not all you’re going to care 
for either, honey. Now just wait! That was not ‘nominated in the 
bond.’ I’m allowed to talk. I never agreed not to say things. What 
I promised was not to do them. So as I said, honey, sit at this 
table, and eat the food I’ve cooked; soon the furniture van will 
be here, and you shall tell me where and how.” 

“Oh if I were only stronger, David!” 

“You are!” said the Harvester. “You are much better than you 
were yesterday. You can talk, and that’s all that’s necessary. The 
rooms are ready for furniture. The men will carry it where you 
want it. A decorator is coming to hang the curtains. By night we 
will be settled; you can lie in the swing while I read to you a 
story so wonderful that the wildest fairy tale you ever heard never 
touched it.” 

“What will it be, David?” 





THE HARVESTER INTERPRETS LIFE 207 


‘Eat all the red raspberries and cream, bread and butter, and 
drink all the milk you can. There are blood, beefsteak, and bones 
in it. As I was saying, you have come here a stranger to a strange 
land. The first thing is for you to understand and love the woods. 
Before you can do that you should master the history of one tree; 
just the same as you must learn to know and love me before your 
childhood trust in all mankind returns again. Understand? Well, 
the fates knew you were on the way, coming trembling down the 
brink, Ruth, so they put it into the heart of a great man to write 
largely of a wonderful tree, especially for your benefit. After it 
had fallen he took it apart, split it in sections, and year by year 
spread out history for all the world to read. It made a classic story 
filled with unsurpassed wonders. It was a pine of a thousand 
years, close the age of our mother tree, Ruth. When we have 
learned from Enos Mills how to wrest secrets from the hearts of 
centuries, we will climb the hill and measure our oak; then I 
will estimate, and you shall write, and we will make a record for 
our tree.” 

“Oh Id like that!” 

“So would I,” said the Harvester. “‘And a million other things 
I can think of that we can learn together. It won’t require long 
for me to teach you all I know, by that time your hand will be 
clasped in mine, and our ‘hearts will beat as one,’ so you will give 
me a kiss every night and morning, and a few during the day for 
interest, then we will go on in life together and learn songs, mir- 
acles, and wonders until the old oak calls us. We will ascend the 
hill gladly and offer up our bodies, while our children will lay 
flowers over our hearts, and gather the herbs and paint the pic- 
tures, Amen. I hear a van on the bridge. Just you go to your 
room and lie down until I get things unloaded and where they 
belong. Then you and the decorator can make us so homelike, 
that to-morrow we will begin to live. Won’t that be great, Ruth?” 

“With you, yes, I think it will.” 

“That will do for this time,”’ said the Harvester. “Lie and rest 
until I say ready.” 

As he went to meet the men, she could hear him singing 
lustily: ‘“‘Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.” 


208 THE HARVESTER 


‘What a child he is!”’ she said. “And what a man!” 

For an hour heavy feet sounded through the cabin carrying 
furniture to different rooms. Then with a floor brush in one hand, 
and a polishing cloth in the other, the Harvester tapped at her 
door and helped the Girl upstairs. He had divided the space into 
three large, square sleeping chambers. In each he had set up a 
white iron bed, a dressing table, and wash stand, and placed two 
straight-backed and one rocking chair, all white. The walls were 
tinted lightly with green added to the plaster. There were a mat- 
tress and a stack of bedding on each bed, a large rug and several 
small ones on the floors. He led her to the rocking chair in the 
middle room, where she could see through the open doors of the 
other two. 

‘‘Now,” said the Harvester, “I didn’t know whether the room 
with two windows toward the lake and one on the marsh, or two 
facing the woods and one front, was the guest chamber. It seemed 
about an even throw whether a visitor would prefer woods or 
water, so I made them both guest chambers, and got things alike 
for them. Now if we are entertaining two, one can’t feel more 
highly honoured than the other. Was that a scheme?” 

“Fine! I don’t see how it could be surpassed.” 

“ ‘Be sure you are right, then go ahead,’” quoted the Har- 
vester. “Now I'll make the beds and Mr. Rogers can hang the 
curtains. Is white correct for sleeping rooms? Won’t that wash 
best and always be fresh?” 

“It will,’ said the Girl. “White wash curtains are much the 
nicest.” 

“Make them short, Mr. Rogers; keep them off the floor,” ad- 
vised the Harvester. “And simple—don’t arrange anything elabo- 
rate that will tire a woman to keep in order. Whack them off the 
right length and pin them to the poles.” 

“How about that, Mrs. Langston?” asked Rogers. 

“I am quite sure that is the very best thing to do.” 

“Now about this?” inquired the Harvester. “Do I put on 
sheets and fix these beds ready to use?” 

“I would not,” said the Girl. “I would spread the pad and the 
counterpane and lay the sheets and pillows in the closet until they 


THE HARVESTER INTERPRETS LIFE 209 


are wanted. They can be sunned and the bed made delightfully 
fresh.” 

“Of course,” said the Harvester. 

When he had finished, he spread a cover on the dressing table 
and laid out white toilet articles and grouped a white wash set 
with green decorations on the stand. Then he brushed the floor, 
spread a big green rug in the middle and small ones before the 
bed, stand, and table, and coming out closed the door. 

“Guest chamber with lake view is now ready for company,” 
announced the Harvester. “Repeat the operation on the woods 
room, finished also. Why do people make work of things and 
string them out eternally and fuss so much? Isn’t this simple and 
easy, Ruth?” 

“Yes, if you can afford it,” said the Girl. 

“Forbear!? cried the Harvester. “We have the goods, the 
dealer has my check. Excuse me ten minutes, until I furnish an- 
other room.” 

The laughing Girl could catch glimpses of him busy over beds 
and dresser, floor and rugs; then he came where she sat. 

“Woods guest chamber ready,”’ he said. “Now we come to the 
interior apartment, that from its view might be called the marsh 
room. Aside from being two windows short, it is exactly similar 
to the others. It occurred to me that, in order to make up for the 
loss of those windows; also because I may be compelled to ask 
some obliging woman to occupy it in case your health is precari- 
ous at any time, and in view of the further fact that if any woman 
could be found, who would kindly and willingly care for us, my 
gratitude would be inexpressible; on account of all these things, 
I got a shade the best furnishings for this room.” 

The Girl stared at him with blank face. 

“You see,” said the Harvester, “this is a question of ethics. 
Now what is a guest? A thing of a day! A person who disturbs 
your routine and interferes with important concerns. Why should 
any one be grateful for company? Why should time and money 
be lavished on visitors? They come. You overwork yourself. ‘They 
go. You are glad of it. You return the visit, because it’s the only 
way to have back at them; but why pamper them unnecessarily? | 


210 THE HARVESTER 


Now a good housekeeper means more than words can express. 
Comfort, kindness, sanitary living, care in illness! Here’s to the 
prospective housekeeper of Medicine Woods! Rogers, hang those 
ruffled embroidered curtains. Observe that whereas mere guest 
beds are plain white, this has a touch of brass. Where guest rugs 
are floor coverings, this is a work of art. Where guest brushes 
are celluloid, these are enamelled, while the dresser cover is hand 
embroidered. Let me also call your attention to the chairs touched 
with gold, cushioned for ease, and a decorated pitcher and bowl. 
Watch the bounce of these springs and the thickness of this mat- 
tress and pad, and notice that where guests, however welcome, 
get a down cover of sateen, the lady of the house has silkaline. 
Won't she prepare us a breakfast after a night in this room?” 

“David, are you in earnest?” gasped the Girl. 

“Don’t these things prove it?” asked the Harvester. ‘No 
woman shall enter my home, when my necessities are so great 
I have to hire her to come, and take the worst in the house. After 
my wife, she gets the best, every time. Whenever I need help, the 
woman who will come and serve me is what I’d call the real 
guest of the house. Friend? Where are your friends when trouble 
comes? It always brings a crowd on account of the excitement, 
and there is noise and racing; but if your soul is saved alive, it is 
by a steady, trained hand you pay to help you. Friends come and 
go, but a good housekeeper remains, she is a business proposition 
—one that if conducted rightly for both parties and on a strictly 
common-sense basis, gives you living comfort. Now that we have 
disposed of the guests who go and the one that remains, we will 
arrange for ourselves.” 

‘David, did you ever know any one who treated a housekeeper 
as you say you would?” 

“No. And I never knew any one who raised medicinal stuff 
for a living, but ’'m making a gilt-edged success of it, and I will 
of a housekeeper, too.” 

“It doesn’t seem 

“That’s the bedrock of all the trouble on earth,” interrupted the 
Harvester. “We are a nation and a part of the world that spends 
our time on ‘seeming.’ Our whole outer crust is ‘seeming.” When 


39 





THE HARVESTER INTERPRETS LIFE QII 


we get beneath the surface and strike the being, then we live as we 
are privileged by the Almighty. I don’t think I give a tinker how 
anything seems. What concerns me is how it is. It doesn’t ‘seem’ 
possible to you to hire a woman to come into your home to take 
charge of its cleanliness and the food you eat—the very founda- 
tion of life—and treat her as an honoured guest, and give her the 
best comfort you have to offer. The cold room, the old covers, the 
bare floor, and the cast off furniture are for her. No wonder, as a 
rule, she gives what she gets. She dignifies her labour in the same 
ratio that you do. Wait until we need a housekeeper, then gaze 
with awe on the one I shall raise to your hand.” 

“T wonder i. 

‘Don’t! It’s wearing! Come tell me how to make our living- 
room less bare than it appears at present.” 

They went downstairs and began work on the room. The Girl 
was placed on a couch and made comfortable; then the Harvester 
looked around. 

“That bundle there, Rogers, is the curtains we bought for this 
room. If you and my wife think they are not right, we will not 
hang them.” 

The decorator opened the package and took out curtains of 
tan-coloured goods with borders of blue and brown. 

“Those are not expensive,” said the Harvester, “but to me a 
window appears bare with only a shade, so I thought we'd try 
these. When they become soiled we'll burn them and buy some 
fresh ones.” 

“Good idea!” laughed the Girl. “As a house decorator you 
surpass yourself as a Medicine Man.” 

“Fix these as you did those upstairs,” ordered the Harvester. 
“We don’t want any fol-de-rols. Put the bottom even with the 
sill and shear them off at the top.” 

“No, I am going to arrange these,” said the decorator, “you 
go on with your part.” 

“All right! First, I'll lay the big rug.” 

He cleared the floor, spread a large rug with a rich brown 
centre and a wide blue border. Smaller ones of similar design 





212 THE HARVESTER 


and colour were placed before each of the doors leading from 
the room. 

“Now for the hearth,” said the Harvester, “I got this tan goat 
skin. Doesn’t that look fairly well?” 

It certainly did; so the Girl and the decorator hastened to 
agree. The Harvester replaced the table and chairs; then sat on 
the couch at the Girl’s feet. 

“T call this almost finished,’ he remarked. “‘All we need now 
is a bouquet and something on the walls which is serious business. 
What goes on them usually remains for a long time, so it should 
be selected with care. Ruth, have you a picture of your mother?” 

“None since she was my mother. I have some lovely girl photo- 
graphs.” 

“Good!” cried the Harvester. “Exactly the thing! I have a 
picture of my mother when she was a pretty girl. We will select 
the best of yours and have them enlarged in those beautiful 
brown prints they make in these days, then we'll frame one for 
each side of the mantel. After that you can decorate the other 
walls as you see things you want. Fifteen minutes gone; we are 
ready to march to the dining-room. Oh I forgot my pillows! 
Here are half a dozen tan, brown, and blue for this room. Ruth, 
you arrange them.” 

The Girl heaped four on the couch, dropped one beside the 
hearth, and laid another in a big chair. 

“Now I don’t know what you will think of this,” said the Har- 
vester. “I found it in a magazine at the library. I copied this 
whole room. The plan was to have the floor, furniture, and 
casings of golden oak and the walls pale green. Then it said get 
yellow curtains bordered with green and a green rug with yellow 
figures, so I got them. I had green leather cushions made for the 
window seats, and these pillows go on them. Hang the saffron 
curtains, Rogers, and we will finish m good shape for dinner by 
six. By the way, Ruth, when will you select your dishes? It will 
take a big set to fill all these shelves and you shall have exactly 
what you want.” 

“IT can use those you have very well.” 

“Oh no you can’t!” cried the Harvester. “I may live and work 





THE HARVESTER INTERPRETS LIFE 218 


in the woods, but I am not so benighted that I don’t own and 
read the best books and magazines, and subscribe for a few pa- 
pers. I patronize the library and see what is in the stores. My 
money will buy just as much as any man’s, if I do wear khaki 
trousers. Kindly notice the word. Save in deference to your lady- 
ship I probably would have said pants. You see how élite I can 
be if I try. And it not only extends to my wardrobe, to a ‘yaller’ 
and green dining-room, but it takes in the ‘chany’ as well. I have 
looked up that, too. You want china, cut glass, silver cutlery, and 
linen. Ye! Ye! You needn’t think I don’t know anything but how 
to dig in the dirt. I have been studying this especially, so I know 
exactly what to get.” 

“Come here,” said the Girl, making a place for him beside her. 
“Now let me tell you what I think. We are going to live in the 
woods, and our home is a log cabin i 

“With acetylene lights, a furnace, baths, and hot and cold 
water * interpolated the Harvester. 

“Anyway,” said she, “if you are going to let me have what I 
would like, I’d prefer a set of tulip yellow dishes with the Dutch 
little figures on them. I don’t know what they cost, but certainly 
they are not so expensive as cut glass and china.” 

“Ts that earnest or is it because you think I am spending too 
much money?” 

“Tt is what I want. Everything else is different; why should we 
have dishes like city folk? I’'d dearly love to have the Dutch ones, 
and a white cloth with a yellow border, glass where it is necessary, 
and silver knives, forks, and spoons. 

“That would be great, all right!” endorsed the decorator. 
“And you have got a pricelsss old lustre tea set there, and your 
willow ware is as fine as I ever saw. If I were you, I wouldn’t 








: buy a dish with what you have, except the yellow set.” 


“Great day!’ ejaculated the Harvester. “Will you tell me why 
my great-grandmother’s old pink and green teapot is priceless?” 
The Girl explained pink lustre. “That set in the shop I knew in 
Chicago would sell for from three to five hundred dollars. ‘Truly 
it would! I’ve seen one little pink and green pitcher like yours 
bring nine dollars’‘there. And you’ve not only got the full tea set, 


214 T HsEn UHVAGRAV ES’ TER 


but water and dip pitchers, two bowls, and two bread plates. 
They are priceless, because the secret of making them is lost; 
they take on beautv with age, and they were your great-grand- 
mother’s.” 

The Harvester reached over to shake hands. 

“Ruth, I’m so glad you’ve got them!” he bubbled. “Now 
elucidateton my willow ware. What is it? Where is it? Why have 
I willow ware and am not informed. Did my ancestors buy better 
than they knew, or worse? Is willow ware a crime for which I 
should hide my head, or is it further riches thrust upon me? I 
thought I had investigated the subject of proper dishes quite 
thoroughly; but I am very certain I saw no mention of lustre or 
willow. I thought, in my ignorance, that lustre was a dress, and 
willow a tree. Have I been deceived? Why is a blue pitcher wil- 
low ware?” 

“Bring that platter from the mantel,” suggested the Girl, “and 
I will show you.” 

The Harvester obeyed, watching the finger that traced the 
design. 

‘“That’s a healthy willow tree!’ he commented. “If Loon Lake 
couldn't go ahead of that it should be drained. And will you 
please tell me why this precious platter from which I have eaten 
much stewed chicken, fried ham, and in youthful days, sopped 
the gravy—will you tell me why this relic of my ancestors is called 
a willow plate, when there are a majority of orange trees so ex- 
tremely fruitful they have neglected to grow a leaf? Why is it 
not an orange plate? Look at that boat! And in plain sight of it, 
two pagodas, a summer house, a water-sweep, and a pair of cor- 
pulent swallows; you would have me believe that a couple are 
eloping in broad daylight.” 

‘Perhaps it’s night! And those birds are doves.” 

“Never!” cried the Harvester. “There is a total absence of 
shadows. There is no moon. Each orange tree is conveniently 
split in halves, so you can see to count the fruit accurately; the 
birds are in flight. Only a swallow or a stork can fly in decora- 
tions, either by day or by night. And for any sake look at that 
elopement! He goes ahead carrying a cane, she comes behind 








THE HARVESTER! INTERPRETS LIFE 215 


lugging the baggage, another man with a cane brings up the 
rear. They are not running away. They have been married ten 
years at least. In a proper elopement, they forget there are such 
things as jewels and they always carry each other. I’ve often 
looked up the statistics and it’s the only authorized version. As I 
regard this treasure, I grow faint when I remember with what 
unnecessary force my father bore down when he carved the ham. 
I'll bet a cooky he split those orange trees. Now me—I'll never 
dare touch knife to it again. I’ll always carve the meat on the 
broiler, and gently lift it to this platter with a fork. Or am I not 
to be allowed to dine from my ancestral treasure again?” 

“Not in a green and yellow room,” laughed the Girl. “I'll tell 
you what I think. If I had a tea table to match the living-room 
furniture, standing beside the hearth, a chafing dish to cook in, 
and the willow ware to eat from, we could have little tea parties 
in there, when we aren’t very hungry or to treat a visitor. It would 
help make that room ‘homey,’ and it’s wonderful how they har- 
monize with the other things.” 

“How much willow ware have I got to ‘bestow’ on you?” in- 
quired the Harvester. “Suppose you show me all of it. A guilty 
feeling arises in my breast; I fear me I have committed high 
crimes!”’ 

“Oh Man! You didn’t break or lose any of those dishes, did 
you?” 

“Show me!” insisted the Harvester. 

The Girl arose, opened the cupboard he had designed for her 
china, and set before him a teapot, cream pitcher, two plates, a 
bowl, a pitcher, the meat platter, and a sugar bowl. “If there were 
all of the cups, saucers, and plates, I know where they would 
bring five hundred dollars,” she said. 

“Ruth, are you getting even with me for poking fun at them, 
or are you in earnest?” asked the Harvester. 

“T mean every word of it.” 

“You really want a small, black walnut table made especially 
for those old dishes?” 

“Not if you are too busy. I could use it with beautiful effect. 
while I can’t tell you how proud Id be of them.” 


216 THE HARVESTER 


The Harvester’s face flushed. “Excuse me,” he said, rising. “I 
have now finished furnishing a house; I will go and take a peep 
at the engine.’ He went into the kitchen and hearing the rattle of 
dishes the Girl followed in time to see him hastily slide something 
into his pocket. He picked up half a dozen old white plates, 
saucers, and several cups, starting toward the evaporator. He 
heard her coming. 

“Look here, honey,” he said, turning, “you don’t want to see 
the dry-house now. I have terrific heat to do some rapid work. 
I'll be gone only a few minutes. You better boss the decorator... . 
I’m afraid that wasn’t very diplomatic,” he muttered. “It sa- 
voured a little of being sent back. But if what she says is right, and 
she should know if they handle such stuff at that art store, she 
will feel considerably better not to see this.’ He set his load at 
the door, drew an old blue saucer from his pocket and made a 
careful examination. He pulled some leaves from a bush, pushed 
a greasy cloth out of the saucer, wiped it the best he could, and 
held it to light. “That is a crime!” he commented. “Saucer from 
your maternal ancestors’ tea set used for a grease dish. I am afraid 
I'd better sink it in the lake. She’d feel worse to see it than never 
to know. Wish I could clean off the grease! I could do better if 
it were hot. I can set it on the engine.” 

The Harvester placed the saucer on the engine, entered the 
dry-house, and closed the door. In the stifling air he began pour- 
ing seed from beautiful, big willow plates to old white ones. 

‘About the time I have ruined you,” he said to a white plate, 
‘some one will pop up and discover that the art of making you 
is lost so you are priceless, then I'll have been guilty of another 
blunder. Now there are the dishes mother got with baking pow- 
der. She thought they were grand. I know plenty well she prized 
them more than these blue ones or she wouldn’t have saved them 
and used these for every day. There they set, all so carefully taken 
care of, and the Girl doesn’t even look at them. ‘Thank Heaven, 
there are four remaining plates all right, anyway! Now I’ve got 
seed in some of the saucers; one is there; where on earth is the 
Jast one? And where, oh unkind fates! are the cups?” 

He found more saucers, setting them with the plates. As he 





THE HARVESTIERIITNTERPRETS LIFE 217 


passed the engine he noticed the saucer on it was bubbling grease, 
literally exuding it from the particles of clay. “Hooray!” cried the 
Harvester. He took it up, rubbed off all the grease, and imagined 
it was brighter. “If ‘a little is good, more is better,’ ”’ quoted the 
Harvester. 

Then he slipped out, dripping perspiration, glanced toward 
the cabin, and ran into the workroom. The first object he saw was 
a willow cup half full of red paint, stuck and dried as if to remain 
forever. He took his knife and tried to whittle it off, but noticing 
that he was scratching the cup he filled it with turpentine, set it 
under a work bench, turned a tin pan over it, and covered it with 
shavings. A few steps farther brought one in sight, filled with car- 
pet tacks. He searched everywhere, but could find no more, so he 
went to the laboratory. Beside his wash bowl at the door stood 
the last willow saucer. He had used it for years as a soap dish. He 
scraped the contents on the bench and filled the dish with water. 
Four cups held medicinal seeds and were in good condition. He 
lacked one, although he could not remember of ever having 
broken it. Gathering his collection, he carried his treasures into 
the workroom, then went to the barn to feed. As he was leaving 
the stable he uttered a joyous exclamation and snatched from a 
window sill a willow cup, gummed and smeared with harness oil. 

“The full set, by hokey!” marvelled the Havester. “Now if I 
only can clean them, I’ll be ready to make her tea table, whatever 
that is. My, I hope she will stay away until I get these in better 
shape!” He filled the last cup with turpentine, set it with the 
other under the work bench, stacked the remaining pieces, pol- 
ished the saucer he was baking, and went to bring a dish pan and 
towel. 

As he stood busily working over the dishes, with light step the 
Girl came to the door. She took one long look and understood. 
She turned swiftly going back to the cabin, but her shoulders were 
shaking. Presently the Harvester came in and explained that after 
finishing in the dry-house he had gone to do the feeding. He sug- 
gested that before it grew dark they should go through the rooms 
to see how they appeared, then gather the flowers the Girl 
wanted. Then they went to the hillside sloping to the lake. For 


218 THE HARVESTER 


the dining-room, the Girl wanted yellow water lilies, so the Har- 
vester brought his old boat and gathered enough to fill the green 
bowl. For the living-room, she used wild ragged robins in the 
blue bowl, while on one end of the mantel set a pitcher of senna 
and on the other arrowhead lilies. For her room, she selected big, 
blushy mallows that grew all along Singing Water and around 
the lake. 

“Tsn’t that slightly peculiar?” questioned the Harvester. 

“Take a peep,” said the Girl, opening her door. 

She had spread the pink coverlet on her couch, so when she 
set the big pink bowl filled with mallows on the table the effect 
was exquisite. 

“T think perhaps that’s a little Frenchy,” she said, “and you 
may have to be educated to it; but salmon pink and buttercup 
yellow are colours I love in combination.” 

She closed the door and went to the swing, where she liked to 
rest, look, and listen. The Harvester suggested reading to her, but 
she shook her head. 

“Wait until winter,” she said, ‘““when the days are longer and 
cold, and the snow buries everything, and then read. Now tell 
me about my hedge and the things you have planted in it.” 

The Harvester went out and collected a bunch of twigs. He 
handed her a big, evenly proportioned leaf of ovate shape, and 
explained: ‘““This is burning bush, so called because it has pink 
berries that hang from long, graceful stems all winter, and when 
fully open they expose a flame-red seed pod. It was for this colour 
on gray and white days that I planted it. In the woods I grow it 
in thickets. The root bark brings twenty cents a pound, at the 
very least. It is good fever medicine.” 

“Is it poison?” 

“No. I didn’t set anything acutely poisonous in your hedge. I 
wanted it to be a mass of bloom you were free to cut for the cabin 
all spring, an attraction to birds in summer, and bright with 
colour in winter. To draw the feathered tribe, I planted alder, 
wild cherry, and grape-vines. This is cherry. The bark is almost 
as beautiful as birch. I raise it for tonics and the birds love the 
cherries. This fern-like leaf is from mountain ash; when it attains 


33 





THE HARVESTER INTERPRETS LIFE 219 


a few years’ growth it will flame with colour all winter in big 
clusters of scarlet berries. That I grow in the woods is a picture in 
snow time, while the bark is one of my standard articles.” 

The Girl raised on her elbow to look at the hedge. 

“T see it,” she said. “The berries are green now. I suppose they 
change colour as they ripen.” 

“Yes,” said the Harvester. “And you must not confuse them 
with sumac. The leaves are somewhat similar, but the heads differ 
in colour and shape. The sumac and buckeye you must not touch, 
until we learn what they will do to you. To some they are slightly 
poisonous, to others not. I couldn’t help putting in a few buck- 
eyes on account of the big buds in early spring. You will like the 
colour if you are fond of pink and yellow in combination, while 
the red-brown nuts in grayish-yellow, prickly hulls, and the leaf 
clusters are beautiful, but you must use care. I put in witch hazel 
for variety, it’s mighty good medicine, too; so is spice brush, and 
it has leaves that colour brightly, and red berries. ‘These selections 
were all made for a purpose. Now here is wafer ash; it is for music 
as well as medicine. I have invoked all good fairies to come and 
dwell in this hedge, so I had to provide an orchestra for their 
dances. This tree grows a hundred tiny castanets in a bunch; 
when they ripen and become dry the wind shakes fine music from 
them. Yes, they are medicine; that is, the bark of the roots iS. 
Almost without exception everything here has medicinal prop- 
erties. The tulip poplar will bear you the loveliest flowers of all, 
while its root bark, taken in winter, makes a good fever remedy.” 

“How would it do to eat some of the leaves and see if they 
wouldn’t take the feverishness from me?” 

“It wouldn’t do at all,” said the Harvester. “We are well 
enough fixed to allow Doc to come now; he is the one to allay the 
fever.” 

“Oh no!” she cried. “No! I don’t want to see a doctor. I will 
be all right soon. You said I was better.” 

“You are,” said the Harvester. “Much better! We will have 
you strong and well soon. You should have come in time for a 
dose of sassafras. Your hedge is filled with that, because of its 
peculiar leaves and odour. I put in dogwood for the white display 


220 THE HARVESTER 


around the little green bloom, lots of alder for bloom and berries, 
haws for blossoms and fruit for the squirrels, wild crab apples 
for the exquisite bloom and perfume, button bush for the buttons, 
a few pokeberry plants for the colour, and I tried some mallows, 
but I doubt if it’s wet enough for them. I set pecks of vine roots, 
that are coming nicely, and ferns along the front edge. In two 
years that hedge will make a picture that will do your eyes good.” 

“Can you think of anything at all you forgot?” 

“Yes indeed!’ said the Harvester. ‘“The woods are full of trees 
I have not used; some because I overlooked them, some I didn’t 
want. A hedge like this, in perfection, is the work of years. Some 
species must be cut back, some encouraged, but soon it will be 
lovely, and its colour and fruit attract every bird of the heavens, 
and butterflies and insects of all varieties. I set several common 
cherry trees for the robins and some blackberry and raspberry 
vines for the orioles. The bloom is pretty while the birds you'll 
have will be a treat to see and hear, if we keep away cats, don’t 
fire guns, scatter food, and move quietly among them. With our 
water added, there is nothing impossible in the way of making 
friends with feathered folk.” 

“There is one thing I don’t understand,” said the Girl. “You 
wouldn’t risk breaking the wing of a moth by keeping it when 
you wanted a drawing very much; you don’t seem to kill birds 
and animals that other people do. You almost worship a tree; 
now how can you peel bark to sell or dig up beautiful bushes by 
the root.” 

“Perhaps I’ve talked too much about the woods,” said the 
Harvester gently. “I’ve longed inexpressibly for sympathetic com- 
pany here, because I feel rooted for life, so I am more than anx- 
ious that you should care for it. | may have made you feel that 
my greatest interest is in the woods; that I am not consistent 
when I call on my trees and plants to yield of their store for my 
purposes. Above everything else, the human proposition comes 
first, Ruth. I do love my trees, bushes, and flowers, because they 
keep me at the fountain of life, and teach me lessons no book 
ever hints at; but above everything come my fellow men. All I 
do is for them. My heart is filled with feeling for the things you 





THE HARVESTERVINTERIPRETS LIFE 221 


see around you here, but it would be joy to me to uproot the most 
beautiful plant I have if by so doing I could save you pain. Other 
men have wives they love as well, little children they have fath- 
ered, big bodies useful to the world, that are sometimes crippled 
with disease. There is nothing I would not give to allay the pain 
of humanity. It is not inconsistent to offer any growing thing you 
soon can replace, to cure suffering. Get that idea out of your 
head! You said you could worship at the shrine of the pokeberry 
bed, you feel holier before the arrowhead lilies, your face takes 
on an appearance of reverence when you see pink mallow blooms. 
Which of them would you have hesitated a second in uprooting 
if you could have offered it to subdue fever or pain in the body 
of the little mother you loved?” 

“Oh I see!” cried the Girl. “Like everything else you make this 
different. You worship all this beauty and grace, wrought by your 
hands, but you carry your treasure to the market place for the 
good of suffering humanity. Oh Man! I love the work you do!” 

“Good!” cried the Harvester. ““Good! And Ruth-girl, while 
you are about it, see if you can’t combine the man with his occu- 
pation a little.” 


CHAPTER x V1 


Granny Moreland’s Visit 


Tue following morning the Girl was awakened by wheels on the 
gravel outside her window. She lifted her head to see Betsy pass- 
ing with a load of lumber. Shortly afterward the sound of ham- 
mer and saw came to her, so she knew that Singing Water bridge 
was being roofed to provide shade for her. She dressed and went 
to the kitchen to find a dainty breakfast waiting, so she ate what 
she could, then washed the dishes and swept. By that time she 
was so tired she dropped on a dining-room window seat, looking 
toward the bridge. She could catch glimpses of the Harvester as 
he worked. She watched his deft ease in handling heavy timbers, 
and the assurance with which he builded. Sometimes he stood 
with tilted head to study his work a minute, then swiftly pro- 
ceeded. Occasionally he glanced toward the cabin, at last he came 
swinging up the drive. He entered the kitchen quietly, but when 
he saw the Girl in the window he sat at her feet. 

“Oh but this is a morning, Ruth!”’ he said. 

She looked at him closely. He radiated health and good cheer. 
His tanned cheeks were flushed red with exercise, while the hair 
on his temples was damp. 

“You have been breaking the rules,” he said. “It is the law 
that I am to do the work until you are well and strong again. 
Why did you tire yourself?” 

“I am so perfectly useless! I see so many things that I would 
enjoy doing. Oh you can do everything else, make me well! 
Make me strong!” 





GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 223 


“How can I, when you won’t do as I tell you?” 

“T will! Indeed I will!” 

“Then no more attempts to stand over dishes and clean big 
floors. You mustn’t overwork yourself at anything. The instant 
you feel in the least tired you must lie down and rest.” 

“But Man! I’m tired every minute, with a dead, dull ache. I 
feel as if I never would be rested again in all the world.” 

The Harvester took one of her hands, felt its fevered palm, 
fluttering wrist pulse, then noticed that the brilliant red of her 
lips had extended to spots on her cheeks. He formed his resolu- 
tion. 

“Can’t work on that bridge any more until I drive in for some 
big nails,” he said. ““Do you mind being left alone for an hour?” 
“Not at all, if Bel will stay with me. I’ll lie in the swing.” 

“All right!” answered the Harvester. “Tl help you get settled. 
Is there anything you want from town?” 

“No, not a thing!” 

“Oh but you are modest!” cried the Harvester. “TI can sit here 
and name fifty things I want for you.” 

“Oh but you are extravagant!” imitated the Girl. “Please, 
please, Man, don’t! Can’t you see I have so much now I don’t 
know what to do with it? Sometimes I almost forget the ache, 
just lying and looking at all the wonderful riches that have come 
to me so suddenly. I can’t believe they won’t vanish as they came. 
By the hour in the night I look at my lovely room. I just fight 
my eyes to keep them from closing for fear they'll open in that 
stifling garret to the heat of day and work I have not strength 
to do. I know all this will prove to be a dream yet, a wilder one 
than yours.” 

The face of the Harvester was very anxious. 

“Please remember my dream came true,” he said, “and sooner 
than I had the least hope that it would. I’m wide awake or I 
couldn’t be building bridges; while you are real, if I know flesh 
and blood when I touch it.” 

“Tf I were well, strong, and attractive, I could understand,” 
she said. “Then I could work in the house, at the drawings, help 
with the herbs, and I’d feel as if I had some right to be here.” 


224. THE HARVESTER 


“All that is coming,” said the Harvester. “Take a little more 
time. You can’t expect to sin steadily against the laws of health 
for years, and recover in a day. You will be all right much sooner 
than you think possible.” 

“Oh I hope so!” said the Girl. “But sometimes I doubt it. How 
I could come here to put such a burden on a stranger, I can’t see. 
I scarcely can remember what awful stress drove me. I had no 
courage. I should have finished in my garret as my mother did. 
I must have some of my father’s coward blood in me. She never 
would have come. I never should!” 

“Tf it didn’t make any real difference to you, and meant all 
the world to me, I don’t see why you shouldn’t humour me. I 
can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to have you here. I could 
shout and sing all day.” 

“It requires very little to make some people happy.” 

“You are not much, but you are going to be more soon,” 
laughed the Harvester, as he gently picked up the Girl and car- 
ried her to the swing, where he covered her, kissed her hot hand, 
then whistled for Belshazzar. He pulled the table close and set 
a pitcher of iced fruit juice on it. Then he left her. 

“Betsy, this is mighty serious business,’ said the Harvester. 
“The Girl is scorching or I don’t know fever. I wonder—well, 
one thing is sure—she is bound to be better off in pure, cool air 
and with everything I can do to be kind, than in Henry Jame- 
son’s attic with everything he could do to be mean. Pleasant men 
those Jamesons! Wonder if the Girl’s father was much like her 
Uncle Henry? I think not or her refined and lovely mother never 
would have married him. Come to think of it, that’s no law, 
Betsy. I’ve seen beautiful and delicate women fall under some 
mysterious spell, and yoke their lives with rank degenerates. 
Whatever he was, they have paid the price. Maybe the wife de- 
served it, and bore it in silence because she knew she did, but 
it’s bitter hard on Ruth. Girls should be taught to think at least 
one generation ahead when they marry. I wonder what Doc will 
say, Betsy! He will have to come and see for himself. I don’t 
know how she will feel about that. I had hoped I could pull her 
through with care, food, and tonics, but I don’t dare go any 





GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 225, 


farther alone. Betsy, that’s a thin, hot, little hand to hold a man’s 
only chance for happiness.”’ 

“Well, bridegroom! I’ve been counting the days!” said Doctor 
Carey. “The Missus and I made it up this morning that we had 
waited as long as we would. We are coming to-night. David a 

“Tt’s all right, Doc,” said the Harvester. “Don’t you dare think 
anything is wrong or that I am not the proudest, happiest man 
in this world, because I appear anxious. I am not trying to con- 
ceal it from you. You know we both agreed at first that Ruth 
should be in the hospital, Doc. Well, she should! She is what 
would be a lovely woman if she were not full of the poison of 
wrong food and air, overwork, and social conditions that have 
warped her. She is all I dreamed of and more, but I’ve come 
after you. I hoped she would begin to gain strength at once on 
changed conditions. As yet I can’t see any difference. She needs 
a doctor, but I hate for her to know it. Could you come out this 
afternoon, and pretend as if it were a visit? Bring Mrs. Carey, 
then watch the Girl. If you need an examination, I think she will 
obey me. If you can avoid it, fix what she should have and 
send it back to me by a messenger. I don’t like to leave her when 
she is so ill.” 

*T*ll come at once, David.” 

“Then she will know that I came for you; that will frighten 
her. You can do more good to wait until afternoon, and pretend 
you are making a social call. I’d have brought her in, but I have 
no proper conveyance yet. I’m promised something soon, per- 
haps it is ready now. Good-bye! Be sure to come!” 

The Harvester drove to a livery barn and examined a little 
horse, a shining black creature that seemed gentle and spirited. 
He thought favourably of it. A few days before he had selected 
a smart carriage, so with this outfit tied behind the wagon he 
returned to Medicine Woods. He left the horse at the bridge, 
stabled Betsy, and then returned for the new conveyance, driving 
it to the hitching post. At the sound of unexpected wheels the 
Girl lifted her head, staring at the turnout. 

“Come on!” cried the Harvester, opening the screen. “We are 
going to the woods to initiate your carriage.” 





226 THE HARVESTER 


She went with cries of surprised wonder. 

‘This is how you travel to Onabasha to do your shopping, to 
call on Mrs. Carey and the friends you will make, and visit the 
library. When I’ve tried out Mr. Horse enough to prove him re- 
liable as guaranteed, he is yours, for your purposes only. When 
you grow wonderfully well and strong, we’ll sell him and buy you 
a real live horse and a stanhope, such as city ladies have; and 
there must be a saddle so that you can ride.” 

“Oh Id love that!” cried the Girl. “I always wanted to ride! 
Where are we going?” 

“To show you Medicine Woods,” said the Harvester. “I’ve 
been waiting for this. You see there are several hundred acres of 
trees, thickets, shrubs, and herb beds up there, so if the wagon 
road that winds between them were stretched straight it would 
be many miles in length. We have a cool, shaded, perfumed drive- 
way all our own. Let me get you a drink before you start and 
the little shawl. It’s chilly there compared with here. Now are 
you comfortable and ready?” 

“Yes,” said the Girl. “Hurry! I’ve just longed to go, but I 
didn’t like to ask.” 

“I am sorry,” said the Harvester. “Living here for years alone 
and never having had a sister, how am I to know what a girl 
would like if you don’t tell me? I knew it would be too tiresome 
for you to walk, so I was waiting to find a reliable horse and a 
suitable carriage.” 

‘You won’t scratch or spoil it up there?” 

“Tl lower the top. It is not so wide as the wagon; nothing 
will touch it.” 

‘This is just so lovely, and such a wonderful treat, do you 
observe that I’m not saying a word about extravagance?” asked 
the Girl, as she leaned back in the carriage to inhale the invigor- 
ating wood air. 

The horse climbed the hill, when the Harvester guided him 
down long, dim roads through deep forest, while he explained 
what large thickets of bushes were, why he grew them, how he 
collected the roots or bark, for what each was used and its value. 
Excited red birds darted among the bushes, as the Harvester an- 


GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 227 


swered their cry. Blackbirds protested against the unusual intru- 
sion of strange objects, and a brown thrush slipped from a late 
nest close the road, wailing in anxiety. 

One after another the Harvester introduced the Girl to the best 
trees, and pointed out which brought large prices for lumber and 
which had medicinal bark and roots. On and on they slowly drove 
through the woods, past the big beds of cranesbill, violets, and 
lilies. He showed her where the mushrooms were most numerous, 
then for the first time told the story of how he had sold them and 
the violets from door to door in Onabasha in his search for her. 
The amazed Girl sat staring at him. He told of Doctor Carey hav- 
ing seen her once, and inquired as they passed the bed if the yel- 
low violets had revived. He stopped to search, finding a few late 
ones, deep among the leaves. 

“Oh if I only had known that!” cried the Girl, “I would have 
kept them forever.” 

“No need,” said the Harvester. “I now present you with the 
white and yellow violet beds. Next spring you shall fill your room. 
Won’t that be a treat?” 

‘(One money never could buy!” cried the Girl. 

“Seems to be my strong point,’ commented the Harvester. 
“The most I have to offer worth while is something you can’t 
buy. There is a fine fairy platform. They can spare you one. 
Ill get it.” 

The Harvester broke from a tree a large fan-shaped fungus, 
the surface satin fine, the base mossy, and explained to the Girl 
that these were the ballrooms of the woods, the floors on which 
the little people dance in the moonlight at their great celebra- 
tions. Then he added a piece of woolly dog moss, showing her 
how each separate spine was like a perfect little evergreen tree. 
“That is where the fairies get their Christmas pines,” he ex- 
plained. 

“Do you honestly believe in fairies?” 

“Surely!” exclaimed the Harvester. ““Who would tell me when 
the maples are dripping sap, and the mushrooms springing up, 
if the fairies didn’t whisper in the night? Who paints the flower 
faces, colours the leaves, enamels the ripening fruit with bloom, 


228 THE HARVESTER 


and frosts the window pane to let me know that it is time to pre- 
pare for winter? Of course! They are my friends and everyday 
helpers. And the winds are good to me. They carry down news 
when tree bloom is out, when the pollen sifts gold from the bushes, 
and it’s time to collect spring roots. The first bluebird always 
brings me a message. Sometimes he comes by the middle of Feb- 
ruary, again not until late March. On his day, Belshazzar decides 
my fate for a year. Six years we’ve played that game; now it is 
ended in blessed reality. In the woods and at my work I remain 
until I die, with a few outside tries at medicine making. I am 
putting up some compounds in which I really have faith. Of 
course they have got to await their time to be tested, but I believe 
in them. I have grown stuff so carefully, gathered it according 
to rules, washed it decently, and dried and mixed it with such 
scrupulous care. Night after night I’ve sat over the books until 
midnight and later, studying combinations; and day after day 
I’ve stood in the laboratory testing and trying, and two or three 
will prove effective, or I’ve a disappointment coming.” 

“You haven’t wasted time! I’d much rather take medicines 
you make than any at the pharmacies. Several times I’ve thought 
I'd ask you if you wouldn’t give me some of yours. The prescrip- 
tion Doctor Carey sent does no good. I’ve almost drunk it, yet 
I am constantly tired. You make me something from these tonics 
and stimulants you’ve been telling me about. Surely you can help 
me!” 

“I’ve got one combination that’s going to save life, in my ex- 
pectations. But Ruth, it never has been tried, so I couldn’t experi- 
ment on the very light of my eyes with it. If I should give you 
something and you’d grow worse as a result—I am a strong 
man, my girl, but I couldn’t endure that. I'd never dare. But 
dear, I am expecting Carey and his wife out any time; probably 
they will come today, it’s so beautiful; and when they do, for my 
sake, won’t you talk with him, tell him exactly what made you 
ill, then take what he gives you? He’s a great man. He was 
recently President of the National Association of Surgeons. Long 
ago he abandoned general practice, but he will prescribe for you; 
all his art is at your command. It’s quite an honour, Ruth. He 


— 


ps ee y 





: 
| 
| 
| 
| 





GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 229 


performs many miracles, and saves life every day. He had not 
seen you, what he gave me was only by guess. He may not think 
it right after he meets you.” 

“Then I am really ill?” 

“No. You only have the germs of illness in your blood, and if 
you will help me that much we can eliminate them; then it is 
you for housekeeper, with first assistant in me, the drawing tools, 
paint box, and all the woods for subjects. So, as I was going to tell 
you, Belshazzar and I have played our game for the last time. 
That decision was ultimate. Here I will work, live, and die. Here, 
please God, strong and happy, you shall live with me. Ruth, you 
must recover quickly. You will consult the doctor?” 

“Yes, and I wish he would hurry,” said the Girl. “He can’t 
make me new too soon to suit me. If I had a strong body, oh 
Man, I just feel as if you could find a soul somewhere in it that 
would respond to all these wonders you have brought me among. 
Oh! make me well, then I'll try as woman never tried before to 
bring you happiness to pay for it.” 

“Careful now,” warned the Harvester. “There is to be no talk 
of obligations between you and me. Your presence here and your 
growing trust in me are all I ask at the hands of fate at present. 
Long ago I learned to ‘labour and to wait.’ By the way—here’s 
my most difficult labour and my longest wait. This is the precious 
ginseng bed.” 

“How pretty!” exclaimed the Girl. 

Covering acres of wood floor, among the big trees, stretched 
the lacy green carpet. On slender, upright stalks waved three 
large leaves, each made up of five-stemmed, ovate little leaves, 
round at the base, sharply pointed at the tip. A cluster of from 
ten to twenty small green berries, that would turn red later, arose 
above. The Harvester lifted a plant to show the Girl that the 
Chinese name, Jin-chen, meaning man-like, origmated because 
the divided root resembled legs. Away through the woods spread 
the big bed, the growth waving lightly in the wind, the peculiar 
odour filling the air. 

“I am going to wait to gather the crop until the seeds are 
ripe,” said the Harvester, “then bury some as I dig a root. My 


230 THE HARVESTER 


father said that was the way of the Indians. It’s a mighty good 
plan. The seeds are so delicate, they are difficult to gather and 
preserve properly. Instead of collecting and selling all of them 
to start rivals in the business, I shall replant my beds. I must find 
half a dozen assistants to harvest this crop in that way, which 
will be difficult, because it will come when my neighbours are 
busy with corn.” 

“Maybe I can help you.” 

“Not with ginseng digging,” laughed the Harvester. “That is 
not woman’s work. You may sit in an especially attractive place 
while you boss the job.” 

“Oh dear!” cried the Girl. “I want to walk.” 

Gradually they had climbed the summit of the hill, descended 
on the other side, then followed the road through the woods until 
they reached the brier patches, fruit trees, and the garden of vege- 
tables, with big beds of sage, rue, wormwood, hoarhound, and 
boneset. From there to the lake sloped the sunny fields of mul- 
Jein and catnip; the earth was molten gold with dandelion creep- 
ing everywhere. 

“Too hot to-day,” cautioned the Harvester. “Too rough walk- 
ing. Wait until fall, then I shall have a treat there for you. An- 
other flower I want you to love because I do.” 

“T will,” said the Girl. “I feel it in my heart.” 

“Well I am glad you feel something besides the ache of fever,” 
said the Harvester. Then noticing her tired face he added: “Now 
this little horse had quite a trip from town, while the wheels cut 
deeply into this woods soil and make difficult pulling, so I won- 
der if I had not better put him in the stable and let him become 
acquainted with Betsy. I don’t know what she will think. She has 
had sole possession for years. Maybe she will be jealous; perhaps 
she will be as delighted for company as her master. Ruth, if you 
could have heard what I said to Belshazzar when he decided I 
was to go courting this year, and seen what I did to him, and then 
take a look at me now—merciful powers, I hope the dog doesn’t 
remember! If he does, no wonder he forms a new allegiance so 
easily. Have you observed that lately, when I whistle, he starts; 
then turns back to see if you want him? He thinks as much of 
you as he does of me right now.” 





GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 231 


“Oh no!” cried the Girl. “That couldn’t be possible. You told 
me I must make friends with him, so I have given him food, and 
tried to win him.” 

“You sit in the carriage until I put away the horse; it will save 
you being alone while I work.” 

She leaned her head against the carriage top the Harvester had 
raised to screen her, and watched him stable the horse. Evidently 
he was very fond of animals, for he talked as if it were a child he 
was undressing and kept giving it extra strokes and pats as he led 
it away. Ajax disliked the newcomer instantly, noticed the car- 
riage and the woman’s dress, so screamed his ugliest. The Girl 
smiled. As the Harvester appeared she inquired: “Is Ajax now 
sending a wireless to Ceylon asking for a mate?” 

The Harvester saw a gleam of mischief in the usually dull dark 
eyes that delighted him. 

“That is the customary supposition when he finds voice,” he 
said. “But since this has become your home, you are bound to 
learn some of my secrets. One of them I try to guard is the fact 
that Ajax has a temper. No, my dear, he is not always sending 
a wireless, I am sorry to say. As a matter of fact he is venting his 
displeasure at any difference in our conditions. He hates change. 
He learned that from me. I will enjoy seeing him come for favour 
a year from now, as I learned to come for it, even when I didn’t 
get much, and the road lay west of Onabasha. Ajax, stop that! 
There’s no use to object. You know you think that horse is nice 
company for you, and that two can feed you more than one. 
Cease crying things you don’t mean, and learn to love the people 
I do. Come on, old boy!” 

The peacock came, but with feathers closely pressed and step- 
ping daintily. As the bird advanced, the Harvester retreated, until 
he stood beside the Girl; then he slipped some grain to her hand 
and she offered it. But Ajax would not be coaxed. He haughtily 
turned and marched away, screaming at intervals. 

“Nasty temper!” commented the Harvester. “Never mind! 
He soon will become accustomed to you, then he will love you 
as Belshazzar does. Feed the doves instead. They are friendly 
enough in all conscience. Do you notice that there is not a col- 


232 THE HARVESTER 


oured feather among them? The squab that is hatched with one 
you may have for breakfast. Now let’s go find something to eat, 
then I will finish the bridge so you can rest there to-night to 
watch the sun set on Singing Water.” 

So they went into the cabin and prepared food; then the Har- 
vester told the Girl to make herself so pretty that she would be a 
picture and come talk to him while he finished the roof. She went 
to her room, found a pale lavender linen dress and put it on, 
dusted the pink powder thickly, then went where a wide bench 
made an inviting place in the shade. There she sat to watch her 
lightly expressed whim take shape. 

“Soon as this is finished,” said the Harvester, “I am going to 
begin on that tea table. I can make it in a little while, if you 
want it to match the other furniture.” 

“TI do,” said the Girl. 

‘Wonder if you could draw a plan showing how it should 
appear. I am rather shy on tea tables.” 

“T think I can.” 

The Harvester brought paper, pencil, and a shingle for a 
drawing pad. 

*‘Now remember one thing,” he said. “If you are in earnest 
about using those old blue dishes, this must be a big, healthy 
table. A little one will appear top heavy with them. It would 
be a good idea to set out what you want to use, arranged as you 
would like them, then let me take the top measurements that 
way.” 

“All right! Pll only indicate how it should be. We will find 
the size later. I could almost weep because that wonderful set is 
broken. If I had all of it I'd be so proud!” 

The Girl bent over the drawing. The Harvester worked with 
his attention divided between her, the bridge, and the road. At 
last he saw the big red car creeping up the valley. 

“Seems to be some one coming, Ruth! Guess it must be Doc. 
I'll go open the gate?” 

“Yes,” said the Girl. “I’m so glad. You won’t forget to ask 
him to help me if he can?” 

‘The Harvester wheeled hastily. “I won’t forget!” he said, as 


~~, 


ee 





GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 233 


he hurried to the gate. The car ran slowly; the Girl could see him 
swing to the step to talk as they advanced. When they reached 
her they stopped and all of them came forward. She went to meet 
them. She shook hands with Mrs. Carey, then with the doctor. 

“T am so glad you have come,” she said. 

“T hope you are not lonesome already,” laughed the doctor. 

“T think any one with brains to appreciate half of this never 
could become lonely here,”’ answered the Girl. “‘No, it isn’t that.” 

“A-ha!” cried the doctor, turning to his wife. “You see that 
the beautiful young lady remembers me, and has been wishing 
I would come. I always said you didn’t half appreciate me. What 
a place you are making, David! I’ll run the car to the shade and 
join you.” / 

For a long time they talked under the trees, then they went to 
see the new home and all its furnishings. 

“Now this is what I call comfort,” said the doctor. “David, 
build us a house exactly similar to this over there on the hill, and 
let us live out here also. I’d love it. Would you, Clara?” 

“T don’t know. I never lived in the country. One thing is sure: 
if I tried it, I’d prefer this to any other place I ever saw. David, 
won’t you take me far enough up the hill that I can look from 
the top to the lake?” 

“Certainly,” said the Harvester. “Excuse us a little while, 
Ruth!” 

As soon as they were gone the Girl turned to the doctor. “Doc- 
tor Carey, David says you are great. Won’t you exercise your art 
on me? I am not at all well, and oh! I’d so love to be strong and 
sound.” 

“Will you tell me,” asked the doctor, “just enough to show me 
what caused the trouble?” 

“Bad air and water, poor light and food at irregular times, 
overwork and deep sorrow; every wrong condition of life you 
could imagine, with not a ray of hope in the distance, until now. 
For the sake of the Harvester, I would be well again. Please, 
please try to cure me!” 

So they talked until the doctor thought he knew all he desired; 
then they went to see the gold flower garden. 


234 THE HARVESTER 


“T call this simply superb,” said he, taking a seat beneath the 
tree roof of her porch. “Young woman, I don’t know what I'll 
do to you if you don’t speedily grow strong here. This is the pret- 
tiest place I ever saw.” 

“Tsn’t he wonderful?” asked the Girl, looking up the hill, where 
the tall form of the Harvester could be seen moving around. 
“Only to see him, you would think him the essence of manly 
strength and force. And he is! So strong! Into the lake at all 
hours, at the dry-house, on the hill, grubbing roots, lifting big 
pillars to support a bridge roof, yet with it all a fancy as delicate 
as any dreaming girl. Doctor, the fairies paint the flowers, colour 
the fruit, and frost the windows for him; the winds carry pollen 
to tell him when his growing things are ready for the dry-house. 
I don’t suppose I can tell you anything new about him; but isn’t 
he a perpetual surprise? Never like any one else! And no matter 
how he startles me in the beginning, he always ends by convinc- 
ing me that he is right.” 

“T never loved any other man as I do him,” said the doctor. 
“T ushered him into the world when I was a young man just 
beginning to practise. ’'ve known him ever since. I know few 
men so scrupulously clean. Try to get well and make him happy, 
Mrs. Langston. He so deserves it.” 

‘You may be sure I will,’ answered the Girl. 

After the visitors had gone, the Harvester told her to place the 
old blue dishes as she would like to arrange them on her table, 
so he could get a correct idea of the size, then he left to put a 
few finishing strokes on the bridge cover. She went into the din- 
ing-room and opened the china closet. She knew from her peep 
in the workroom that there would be more pieces than she had 
seen before, but she did not think or hope that a full half dozen 
tea set and plates, bowl, platter, and pitcher would be waiting 
for her. 

“Why Ruth, what made you tire yourself to come down? I 
intended to return in a few minutes.” 

“Oh Man!” cried the laughing Girl, as she clung pantingly 
to a bridge pillar for support, “I just had to come to tell you. 
There are fairies! Really truly ones! They have found the re- 


ee ee 


—— 


GRANNY MORELAND ’S VISIT 235 


mainder of the willow dishes for me. Now there are so many it 
isn’t going to be a table at all. It must be a little cupboard espe- 
cially for them, in that space between the mantel and the book- 
case. There should be a shining brass tea canister, and a wafer 
box like the arts people make. [Il pour tea and tend the chafing 
dish while you can toast the bread with a long fork over the coals. 
We will have suppers on the living-room table. It will be such 
fun!” 

“Be seated!” cried the Harvester. “Ruth, that’s the longest 
speech I ever heard you make, while it sounded, praise the Lord, 
like a girl. Did Doc say he would fix something for you?” 

“Yes, such a lot of things! I am going to shut my eyes, open 
my mouth and swallow all of them. I’m going to be born again 
and forget all I ever knew before I came here. Soon I will be 
tagging you everywhere, begging you to suggest designs for my 
pencil, and I’ll simply force life to come right for you.” 

“Sounds good!” he said. “But, Ruth, I’m a little dubious about 
force work. Life won’t come right unless you learn to love me, 
and love is a stubborn, contrary bulldog element of our nature 
that won’t be driven an inch. It wanders as the wind, and strikes 
us as it will. You'll arrive at what I hope for much sooner if you 
forget it in amusing yourself and being as happy as you can. 
Then, perhaps all unknown to you, a little spark of tenderness 
for me will light in your breast; if it ever does we will buy a fan- 
ning mill and raise a flame or know why.” 

“And there won’t be any force in that?” 

“What you can’t compel is the start. It’s all right to push any 
growth after you have something to work on.” 

“That reminds me,” said the Girl, “‘there is a question I want 
to ask you.” 

“Go ahead!” said the Harvester, glancing at her as he hewed 
a joist. 

She turned away her face, looking across the lake for a long 
time. 

“Ts it a difficult question, Ruth?’ inquired the Harvester to 
help her. 

““Yes,”’ said the Girl. “I don’t know how to make you see.” 


236 THE HARVESTER 


“Take any kind of a plunge. I’m not usually dense.” 

“It is really quite simple after all. It's about a girl—a girl I 
knew very well in Chicago. She had a problem—and it worried 
her dreadfully, so I just wondered what you would think of it.” 

The Harvester shifted his position until he could watch the 
side of the averted face. 

“You'll have to tell me, before I can tell you,” he suggested. 

“She was a girl who never had anything from life but work 
and worry. Of course, that’s the only kind ’'d know! One day 
when the work was most difficult, and worry cut deepest, and she 
really thought she was losing her mind, a man came by and 
helped her. He lifted her out; rescued all that was possible for 
a man to save to her in honour, then went his way. There wasn’t 
anything more. Probably there never would be. His heart was 
great, so he stooped to pity her gently and passed on. After a 
time another man came by, a good and noble man. He offered 
her love so wonderful she hadn’t brains to comprehend how or 
why it was.” 

The Girl’s voice trailed off as if she were too weary to speak 
further, while she leaned her head against a pillar, gazing with 
dull eyes across the lake. 

“And your question,” suggested the Harvester at last. 

She aroused herself. “Oh, the question! Why this—if in time, 
after she had tried and tried, love to equal his simply would not 
come—would—would she be wrong to pretend she cared, to do 
the very best she could, and hope for real love some day? Oh 
David, would she?” 

The Harvester’s face was whiter than the Girl’s. He pounded 
the chisel into the joist savagely. 

“Would she, David?” 

“Let me understand you clearly,’ said the man in a dry, 
breathless voice. “Did she love this first man to whom she came 
under obligations?” 

The Girl sat gazing across the lake while the tortured Har- 
vester stared at her. 

“TI don’t know,” she said at last. ‘I don’t know whether she 
knew what love was or ever could. She never before had known 











eee a 














GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 237 


a man; her heart was as undeveloped and starved as her body. 
I don’t think she realized love, but there was a something. Every 
time she would feel most grateful and long for the love that was 
offered her, that ‘something’ would awake and hurt her almost 
beyond endurance. Yet she knew he never would come. She knew 
he did not care for her. I don’t know that she felt she wanted 
him, but she was under such obligations to him that it seemed 
as if she must wait to see if he might not possibly come, and if 
he did she should be free.” 

“If he came, she preferred him?” 

“There was a debt she had to pay—if he asked it. I don’t know 
whether she preferred him. I do know she had no idea that he 
would come, but the possibility was always before her. If he 
didn’t come in time, would she be wrong in giving all she had 
to the man who loved her?” 

The Harvester’s laugh was short and sharp. 

“She had nothing to give, Ruth! Talk about wormwood, colo- 
cynth apples, and hemlock! What sort of husks would that be to 
offer a man who gave honest love? Lie to him! Pretend feeling 
she didn’t experience. Endure him for the sake of what he offered 
her? Well I don’t know how calmly any other man would take 
that proceeding, Ruth, but tell your friend for me, that if I of- 
fered a woman the deep, lasting, and only loving passion of my 
heart, and she gave back a lie and indifferent lips, ’'d drop her 
into the deepest hole of my lake and take my punishment cheer- 
fully.” 

“But if it would make him happy? He deserves every happi- 
ness, and he need never know!” 

The Harvester’s laugh raised to an angry roar. 

“You simpleton!” he cried roughly. ““Do you know so little 
of human passion in the heart that you think love can be a suc- 
cessful assumption? Good Lord, Ruth! Do you think a man is 
made of wood or stone, that a woman’s lips in her first kiss 
wouldn’t tell him the truth? Why Girl, you might as well try to 
spread your tired arms and fly across the lake as to attempt to 
pretend a love you do not feel. You never could!” 

“T said a girl I knew!” 


238 THE HARVESTER 


“A Girl you knew,’ then! Any woman! The idea is mon- 
strous. Tell her so and forget it. You almost scared the life out 
of me for a minute, Ruth. I thought it was going to be you. But 
I remember your debt is to be paid with the first money you earn, 
while you cannot have the slightest idea what love is, if you hon- 
estly ask if it can be simulated. No, ma’am! It can’t! Not possibly ! 
Not ever! And when the day comes that its fires light your heart, 
you will come to me, and tell of a flood of delight that is tingling 
from the soles of your feet through every nerve and fibre of your 
body, and you will laugh with me at the time when you asked if 


it could be imitated successfully. No, ma’am! Now let me serve a: 


good supper, and see you eat like a farmer.” 

All evening the Harvester was so gay he kept the Girl laughing, 
so at last she asked him the cause. 

“Relief, honey! Relief!” cried the man. “You had me para- 
lyzed for a minute, Ruth. I thought you were trying to tell me 
that there was some one so possessing your heart that it failed 
every time you tried to think about caring for me. If you hadn’t 
convinced me before you finished that love never has touched 
you I'd be the saddest man in the world to-night, Ruth.” 

The Girl stared at him with wide eyes then silently turned 
away. 

Then for a week they worked out life together in the woods. 
The Harvester was the housekeeper and the cook. He added to 
his store many delicious broths and stimulants he brought from 
the city. They drove every day through the cool woods, often 
rowed on the lake in the evenings, walked up the hill to the oak 
and scattered fresh flowers on the two mounds there, or sat be- 
side them talking for a time. The Harvester kept up his work 
with the herbs, and the little closet for the blue dishes was fin- 
ished. ‘They celebrated installing them by having supper on the 
living-room table, with the teapot on one end, and the pitcher 
full of bell-flowers on the other. 

The Girl took everything prescribed for her, bathed, slept 
when she could, and worked for health with all the force of her 
frail being, but as the days went by it seemed to the Harvester 
her weight grew lighter, her hands hotter, and she drove herself 








i 


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P| 
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; 

§ } 





GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 239 


to a gayety almost delirious. He thought he would have preferred 
a dull, stupid sleep of malaria. There was colour in plenty on her 
cheeks now, and sometimes he found her wrapped in the white 
shawl at noon on the warmest days Medicine Woods knew in 
early August; while on cool nights she wore the thinnest clothing 
and begged to be taken on the lake. The Careys came out every 
other evening and the doctor watched and worked, but he. did 
not get the results he desired. His medicines were not effective. 

“David,” he said one evening, “I don’t like the looks of this. 
Your wife has fever I can’t break. It is eating the little store of 
vitality she has right out of her, so some of these days she is 
coming down with a crash. She should yield to the remedies I 
am giving her. She acts to me like a women driven wild by trouble 
she is concealing. Do you know anything that worries her?” 

“No,” said the Harvester, “but I’ll try to find out if it will help 
you in your work.” 

After they were gone he left the Girl lying in the swing, guarded 
by the dog, and went across the marsh on the excuse that he was 
going to a bed of thorn apple at the foot of the hill. There he sat 
on a log and tried to think. With the mists of night closing around 
him, ghosts arose he fain would have escaped. “What will you 
give me in cold cash to tell you who she is, and who her people 
are?” Times untold in the past two weeks he had smothered, 
swallowed, and choked it down. That question she had wanted 
to ask—was it for a girl she had known, or was it for herself? 
Days of thought had deepened the first slight impression he so 
bravely had put aside, not into certainty, but a great fear that she 
had meant herself. If she did, what was he to do? Who was the 
man? There was a debt she had to pay if he asked it? What debt 
could a woman pay a man that did not involve money? Crouched 
on a log he suffered and twisted in agonizing thought. At last he 
arose, returning to the cabin. He carried a few frosty, blue-green 
leaves of velvet softness and unusual cutting, prickly thorn apples 
full of seeds, and some of the smoother, more yellowish-green 
leaves of the jimson weed, to give excuse for his absence. 

“Don’t touch them,” he warned as he came to her. “They 
are poison and have disagreeable odour. But we are importing 


240 THE HARVESTER 


them for medicinal purposes. On the far side of the marsh, where 
the ground rises, there is a waste place just suited to them, and 
as long as they will seed and flourish with no care at all, I might 
as well have the price as the foreign people who raise them. They 
don’t bring enough to make them worth cultivating, but when 
they grow alone and with no care, I can make money on the time 
required to clip the leaves and dry the seeds. I must go wash 
before I come close to you.” 

The next day he had business in the city. Again she lay in the 
swing, talking to the dog while the Harvester was gone. She was 
startled as Belshazzar arose with a gruff bark. She looked down 
the driveway, but no one was coming. Then she followed the 
dog’s eyes and saw a queer, little old woman coming up the bank 
of Singing Water from the north. She remembered what the Har- 
vester had said, so rising she opened the screen and went down 
the path. As the Girl advanced she noticed the scrupulous clean- 
liness of the calico dress and gingham apron; the snowy hair 
framing a bronzed face with dancing dark eyes. 

“Are you David’s new wife?” asked Granny Moreland with 
laughing inflection. 

“Yes,” said the Girl. “Come in. He told me to expect you. I 
am so sorry he is away, but we can get acquainted without him. 
Let me help you.” 

“I don’t know but that ought to be the other way about. You 
don’t look very strong, child.” 

“I am not well,” said the Girl, “but it’s lovely here, and the 
air is so fine I am going to be better soon. Take this chair until 
you rest a little; then you shall see our pretty home, all the furni- 
ture and my dresses.” 

“Yes, I want to see things. My, but David has tried himself! 
I heard he was just tearin’ up Jack over here, and I could get 
the sound of the hammerin’. One day he asked me to come see 
about his beddin’. He had that Lizy Crofter to wash for him, 
but if I hadn’t jest stood over her his blankets would have been 
ruined. She’s no more respect for fine goods than a pig would 
have for cream pie. I hate to see woollens abused, as if they were 








GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 241 


human. My, but things is fancy here since what David planted 
is growin’! Did you ever live in the country before?” 

“No.” 

‘Where do you hail from?” 

‘Well not from the direction of hail,” laughed the Girl. “I 
lived in Chicago, but we were—were not rich, so I didn’t know 
the luxury of the city; just the lonely, difficult part.” 

“Do you call Chicago lonely?” 

“A thousand times more so than Medicine Woods. Here I 
know the trees will whisper to me, and the water laughs and 
sings all day, while the birds almost split their throats making 
music for me; but I can imagine no loneliness on earth that will 
begin to compare with being among the crowds of a large city 
and no one has a word or look for you. I miss the sea of faces 
and the roar of life; at first I was almost wild with the silence, 
but now I don’t find it still any more; the Harvester is teaching 
me what each sound means and they seem to be countless.” 

“You think, then, you’ll like it here?” 

“I do, indeed! Any one would. Even more than the beautiful 
location, I love the interesting part of the Harvester’s occupation. 
I really think that gathering material to make medicines that will 
allay pain is the very greatest of all the great work a man can do.” 

“Good!” cried Granny Moreland, her dark eyes snapping. 
“I’ve always said it! I’ve tried to encourage David in it. And he’s 
just capital at puttin’ some of his stuff in shape, and combinin’ 
it in as good medicine as you ever took. This spring I was all 
crippled up with the rheumatiz until I wanted to holler every 
time I had to move, and sometimes it got so aggravatin’ I’m not 
right sure but I done it. Long comes David and says, ‘I can fix 
you somethin’,’ and bless you, if the boy didn’t take the tucks out 
of me, until here I am, and tickled to pieces that I can get here. 
This time last year I didn’t care if I lived or not. Now seems as 
if I’m caperish as a three weeks’ lamb. I don’t see how a man 
could do a bigger thing than to stir up life in you like that.” 

“T think this place makes an especial appeal to me, because, 
shortly before I came, I had to give up my mother. She was very 
ill and suffered horribly. Every time I see David going to his little 


242 THE HARVESTER 


laboratory on the hill to work a while I slip away and ask God 
to help him to fix something that will ease the pain of humanity 
as I should like to have seen her relieved.” 

“Why you poor child! No wonder you are lookin’ so thin and 
peaked!” 

“Oh Tl soon be over that,’’ said the Girl. “I am much better 
than when I came. I’ll be coming over to trade pie with you 
before long. David says you are my nearest neighbour, so we 
must be close friends.” 

“Well bless your big heart! Now who ever heard of a pretty 
young thing like you wantin’ to be friends with a plain old coun- 
try woman?” 

“Why I think you are lovely!” cried the Girl. ‘‘And all of us 
are on the way to age, so we must remember that we will want 
kindness then more than at any other time. David says you knew 
his mother. Sometime won’t you tell me about her? You must 
very soon. ‘The Harvester adored her, and Doctor Carey says she 
was the noblest woman he ever knew. It’s a big contract to take 
her place. Maybe if you would tell me all you can remember I 

could profit by much of it.” 

_ Granny Moreland watched the Girl keenly. 

“She wa’ant no ordinary woman, that’s sure,” she commented. 
‘And she didn’t make no common man out of her son, either. 
I’ve always contended she took the job too serious, and wore her- 
self out at it, but she certainly done the work up prime. If she’s 
above cloud leanin’ over the ramparts lookin’ down—though it 
gets me as to what foundation they use or where they get the 
stuff to build the ramparts—but if they is ramparts, and she’s 
peekin’ over them, she must take a lot of solid satisfaction in see- 
ing that David is not only the man she fought and died to make 
him, but he’s give her quite a margin to spread herself on. She 
‘lowed to make him a big man, but you got to know him close 
and plenty ’fore it strikes you jest what his size is. ’'ve watched 
him pretty sharp, and tried to help what I could since Marthy 
went, for I’m frank to say I’d ruther see David happy than to 
be happy myself. Pve had my fling. The rest of the way I’m 
willin’ to take what comes, with the best grace I can muster, and 





GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 243 


wear a smilin’ face to betoken the joy I have had; but it cuts me 
sore to see the young sufferin’.” 

“Do you think David is unhappy?” asked the Girl. 

“TI don’t see how he could be!” cried the old lady. “Of course 
he ain’t! ’Pears as if he’s got everythin’ to make him the proud- 
est, best satisfied of men. I’ll own I was mighty anxious to see you. 
I know the kind 0’ woman it would take to make David miser- 
able, and it seems sometimes as if men—that is good men—are 
plumb, stone blind when it comes to pickin’ a woman. They jest 
hitch up with everlastin’ misery easy as dew rolling off a cabbage 
leaf. It’s sech a blessed sight to see you, and hear your voice and 
know you’re the woman anybody can see you be. Why I’m so 
happy when I set here and contem’-plate you, I want to cackle 
like a pullet announcin’ her first egg. Ain’t this porch the purtiest 
place?” 

“Come see everything,” invited the Girl, rising. 

Granny Moreland followed with alacrity. 

“Bare floors!” she cried. ““Wouldn’t that best you? I saw they 
was finished capital when I was over, but I ’lowed they'd be 
covered afore you come. Don’t you like nice, flowery Brissels 
carpets, honey?” 

“No I don’t,” said the Girl. “You see, when rugs are dusty 
they can be rolled, carried outside, and cleaned. The walls can 
be wiped, the floors polished, and that way a house is always 
fresh. I can keep this shining, germ proof, and truly clean with 
half the work and none of the danger of heavy carpets and cur- 
tains.” 

“T don’t doubt but them is true words,” said Granny More- 
land earnestly. “Work must be easier and sooner done than it 
was in my day, or people jest couldn’t have houses the size of 
this or the time to gad that women have now. From the looks 
of the streets of Onabasha, you wouldn’t think a woman ’ud had 
a baby to tend, a dinner pot a-bilin’, or a bakin’ of bread sence 
the flood. And the country is jest as bad as the city. We’re a apin’ 
them to beat the monkeys at a show. I hardly got a neighbour 
that ain’t got figgered Brissels carpet, a furnace, a windmill, a 
pianny, and her own horse and buggy. Several’s got autermo- 


24.4. THE (RARVWVESTER 


biles, and the young folks are visitin’ around a-ridin’ the trolleys; 
goin’ to college, and copyin’ city ways. Amos Peters, next to us, 
goes bareheaded in the hay field, and wears gloves to pitch and 
plow in. I tell him he reminds me of these city women that only 
wears the lower half of a waist and no sleeves, and a yard of fine 
goods moppin’ the floors. Well if that don’t beat the nation! Ain’t 
them Marthy’s old blue dishes?” 

“Let me show you!” The Girl opened the little cupboard and 
exhibited the willow ware. The eyes of the old woman began to 
sparkle. 

“Foundation or no foundation, I do hope them ramparts is a 
go!” she cried. “If Marthy Langston is squintin’ over them and 
she sees her old chany put in a fine cupboard, her little shawl 
round as purty a girl as ever stepped, and knows her boy is gittin’ 
what he deserves, good Lord, she’ll be like to oust the Almighty, 
and set on the throne herself! Bout everythin’ in life was a dis- 
appointment to her, ’cept David. Now if she could see this! 
Won’t I rub it into the neighbours? And my boys’ wives!” 

“T don’t understand,” said the bewildered Girl. 

“’Course you don’t, honey,” explained the visitor. “It’s like 
this: I don’t know anybody, man or woman, in these parts, that 
ain’t rampagin’ for change. They ain’t one of them that would 
live in a log cabin, though they’s not a house in twenty miles 
of here that fits its surroundin’s and looks so homelike as this. 
They run up big, fancy brick and frame things, all turns and 
gables and gay as frosted picnic pie, and work and slave to git 
these very carpets you say ain’t healthy, and the chairs you say 
you wouldn’t give house room, an’ they use their grandmother’s 
chany for bakin’, scraps, and grease dishes, and hide it if they’s 
visitors. All of them strainin’ after something they can’t afford, 
and that ain’t healthy when they git it, because somebody else is 
doin’ the same thing. Mary Peters says she is afeared of her life 
in their new steam wagon, and she says Andy gits so narvous run- 
nin’ it, he jests keeps on a-jerkin’ and drivin’ all night, and she 
thinks he’ll soon go to smash himself, if the machine doesn’t beat 
him. But they are keepin’ it up, because Graceston’s is, and so it 
goes all over the country. Now I call it a slap right in the face 














GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 245 


to have a Chicagy woman come to the country to live, and enjoy 
a log cabin, bare floors, and her man’s grandmother’s dishes. If 
there ain’t Marthy’s old blue coverlid also carefully spread on a 
splinter new sofy. Landy, I can’t wait to get to my son John’s! 
He’s got a woman that would take two coppers off the collection 
plate while she was purtendin’ to put on one, if she could, and 
then spend them for a brass pin or a string of glass beads. Won’t 
her eyes bung when I tell her about this? She wanted my Peter 
Hartman kiver for her ironin’ board. Show me the rest!” 

“This is the dining-room,” said the Girl. 

Granny Moreland stepped in, sending her keen eyes ranging 
over the floor, walls, and furnishings. She sank on a chair and 
said with a chuckle: “Now you go on and tell me all about it, 
honey. Jest what things are and why you fixed them, and how 
they are used.”’ 

The Girl did her best, while the old woman nodded in de- 
lighted approval. 

“It’s the purtiest thing I ever saw,” she announced. “A minute 
ago, I'd ’a’ said them blue walls back there, jest like October 
skies in Indian summer, and the brown rugs, like leaves in the 
woods, couldn’t be beat; but this green and yaller is purtier yet. 
That blue room will keep the best lookin’ part of fall on all win- 
ter, and with a roarin’ wood fire, it'll be capital, and no mistake; 
but this here is spring, jest spring eternal, an’ that’s best of all. 
Looks like it was about time the leaves was bustin’ and things 
pushin’ up. It wouldn’t surprise me a mite to see a flock of swal- 
lers come sailin’ right through these winders. And here’s a place 
big enough to lay down and rest a spell right handy to the 
kitchen, where a-body gits tiredest, without runnin’ half a mile 
to find a bed, and in the mornin’ you can look down to the ‘still 
waters ; and in the afternoon, when the sun gits around here, you 
can pull that blind and ‘lift your eyes to the hills,’ like David of 
the Bible says. My, didn’t he say the purtiest things! I never read 
nothin’ could touch him!” 

“Have you seen the Psalms arranged in verse as we would 
write it now?” 

“You don’t mean to tell me David’s been put into real poetry?” 


246 THE HARVESTER 


“Yes. Some Bibles have all the poetical books in our forms of 
verse.” 

“Well! Sometimes I git kind 0’ knocked out! As a rule I hold 
to old ways. I think they’re the healthiest and the most faver’ble 
to the soul. But they’s some changes come along, that’s got sech 
hard common sense to riccomend them, that I wonder the past 
generations didn’t see sooner. Now take this! An hour ago I’d 
told you I’d read my father’s Bible to the end of my days. But 
if they’s a new one that’s got David, Solomon, and Job in nateral 
form, I’ll have one, and I’ll git a joy I never expected out of life. 
I ain’t got so much poetry in me, but it always riled me to read, 
‘7. The law of the Lord is perfect, covertin’ the soul. 8. The 
statutes of the Lord are right. 9. The fear of the Lord is clean.’ 
And so it goes on, *bout as much figgers as they is poetry. Always 
did worry me. So if they make Bibles ’cordin’ to common sense, 
Pll have one to-morrow if I have to walk to Onabasha to get it. 
Lawsy me! if you ain’t gathered up Marthy’s old pink tea set, and 
give it a show, too! Did you do that to please David, or do you 
honestly think them is nice dishes?” 

“I think they are beautiful,” laughed the Girl, sinking to a 
chair. “I am not sure that it did please him. He had been study- 
ing the subject, but something saved him from buying anything 
until I came. I’d have felt dreadfully if he had gotten what he 
wanted.” 

“What did he want, honey?” asked the old lady in an awe- 
struck whisper. 

“Egg-shell china and cut glass.’ 

“And you wouldn’t let him! Woman! What do you want?” 

“A set of tulip-yellow dishes, with Dutch little figures on them. 
They are so quaint and they would harmonize perfectly with this 
room.” 

The old lady laughed gleefully. 

‘““My! I wouldn’t ’a’ missed this for a dollar,” she cried. “It 
jest does my soul good. More’n that, if you really like Marthy’s 
dishes and are going to take care of them and use them right, I’ll 
give you mine, too. I ain’t never had a girl. I’ve always hoped 
she’d ’a’ had some jedgment of her own, and not been eternally 


GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 24.7 


apin’, if I had, but the Lord may ’a’ saved me many a disap- 
pointment by sendin’ all mine boys. Not that I’m layin’ the babies 
on to the Lord at all—I jest got into the habit of sayin’ that, ’cos 
everybody else does, but all mine, I had a purty good idy how I 
got them. If a girl of mine wouldn’t ’a’ had more sense, raised 
right with me, I’d ’a’ been purty bad cut up over it. Of course, I 
can’t be held responsible for the girls my boys married, but t’other 
day Emmeline—that’s John’s wife—John is the youngest, and I 
sort o’ cling to him—-Emmeline she says to me, “Mother, can’t I 
have this old pink and green teapot?” My heart warmed right up 
to the child, so I says, ‘What do you want it for, Emmeline? And 
she says, “To draw the tea in.’ Cracky Dinah! That fool woman 
meant to set my grandmother’s weddin’ present from her pa and 
ma, dishes same as Marthy Washington used, on the stove to bile 
the tea in. I jest snorted! ‘No,’ says I, ‘you can’t! ’Fore I die,’ says I, 
‘T’ll meet up with some woman that'll love dishes and know how 
to treat them.’ I think jest about as much of David as I do my 
own boys, and I don’t make no bones of the fact that he’s a heap 
more of a man. I’d jest as soon my dishes went to his children as 
to John’s. I’ll give you every piece I got, if you'll take keer of 
them.” | 

_ “Would it be right?” wavered the girl. 

“Right! Why, I’m jest tellin’ you the fool wimmen would bile 
tea in them, make grease sassers of them, and use them to dish up 
the bakin’ on! Wouldn’t you a heap rather see them go into a 
cupboard like David’s ma’s is in, where they’d be taken keer of, 
if they was yours? I guess you would!” 

“Well if you feel that way, and really want us to have them, I 
know David will build another little cupboard on the other side 
of the fireplace to put yours in, and I can’t tell you how Id love 
and care for them.” 

“Tl jest do it!’ said Granny Moreland. “I got about as many 
blue ones as Marthy had an’ mine are purtier than hers. And my 
lustre is brighter, for I didn’t use it so much. Is this the kitchen? 
Well if I ever saw sech a cool, white place to cook in before! Ain’t 
David the beatenest hand to think up things? He got the start of 
that takin’ keer of his ma all his life. He sort of learned what a 


248 THE HARVESTER 


woman uses, and how it’s handiest. Not that other men don’t 
know; it’s jest that they are too mortal selfish and keerless to fix 
things. Well this is great! Now when you bile cabbage and the 
wash, always open your winders wide and let the steam out, so it 
won't spile your walls.” 

“T’ll be very careful,” promised the Girl. “Now come see my 
bathroom, closet and bedroom.” 

“Well as I live! Ain’t this fine. I’ll bet a purty that if I’d ’a’ 
had a room and a trough like this to soak in when I was wore to 
a frazzle, I wouldn’t ’a’ got all twisted up with rheumatiz like I 
am. It jest looks restful to see. I never washed in a place like this 
in all my days. Must feel grand to be wet all over at once! Now 
everybody ought to have sech a room and use it at all hours, like 
David does the lake. Did you ever see his beat to go swimmin’? 
He’s always in splashin’! Been at it all his life. I used to be skeered 
when he was a little tyke. He soaked so much ’peared like he’d 
wash all the substance out of him, but it only made him strong.” 

“Has he ever been ill?” 

‘Not that I know of, and I reckon I’d knowed it if he had. 
Well what a clothespress! I never saw so many dresses at once. 
Ain’t they purty? Oh I wish I was young, and could have one like 
that yaller. And Id like to have one like your lavender right now. 
My! You are lucky to have so many nice clothes. It’s a good thing 
most girls haven’t got them, or they’d stand primpin’ all day 
tryin’ to decide which one to put on. I don’t see how you tell 
yourself.”” 

“TI wear the one that best hides how pale I am,”’ answered the 
Girl. “I use the colours now. When I grow plump and rosy, I’ll 
wear the white.” 

Granny Moreland dropped on the couch to assure herself that 
it was Martha’s pink Peter Hartman. Then she examined the 
sunshine room. 

“Well I got to go back to the start,” she said at last. “This 
beats the dinin’-room. This is the purtiest thing I ever saw. Oh I 
do hope they ain’t so run to white in Heaven as some folks seem 
to think! Used to be scandalized if a-body took anythin’ but a 
white flower to a funeral. Now they tell me that when Jedge 














GRANNY MORELAND ’S VISIT 249 


Stilton’s youngest girl come from New York to her pa’s buryin’ 
she fetched about a wash tub of blood-red roses. Put them all over 
him, too! Said he loved red roses livin’, so he was goin’ to have 
them when he passed over. Now if they are lettin’ up a little on 
white on earth, mebby some of the stylish ones will carry the 
fashion over yander. If Heaven is like this, I won’t spend none of 
my time frettin’ about the foundations. I’ll jest forget there is any, 
even if we do always have to be so perticler to get them solid on 
earth. Talk of gold harps! Can’t you almost hear them? And 
listen to the birds and that water! Say, you won’t get lonesome 
here, will you?” 

“Indeed no!” answered the Girl. “Wouldn’t you like to lie on 
my beautiful couch that the Harvester made with his own hands, 
and I’ll spread Mother Langston’s coverlet over you and let you 
look at all my pretty things while I slip away a few minutes to 
something I’d like to do?” 

“T’d love to!” said the old woman. “I never had a chance at 
such fine things. David told me he was makin’ your room all him- 
self, and that he was goin’ to fill it chuck full of everythin’ a girl 
ever used, and I see he done it right an’ proper. Away last March 
he told me he was buildin’ for you, an’ I hankered so to have a 
woman here again, even though I never s’posed she’d be sochiable 
like you, that I egged him on jest all I could. I never would ’a’ 
s’posed the boy could marry like this—all by himself.” 

The Girl went to the ice chest to bring some of the fruit juice, 
chilled berries, then to the pantry for bread and wafers to make 
a dainty little lunch that she placed on the veranda table; then 
she and Granny Moreland talked, until the visitor said that she 
must go. The Girl went with her to the little bridge crossing Sing- 
ing Water on the north. There the old lady took her hand. 

“Honey,” she said, “I’m goin’ to tell you somethin’. I am so 
happy I can purt near fly. Last night I was comin’ down the pike 
over there chasin’ home a contrary old gander of mine, when I 
looked over on your land and I see David settin’ on a log with his 
head between his hands a lookin’ like grim death, if I ever see it. 
My heart plum stopped. Says I, ‘she’s a failure! She’s a bustin’ 
the boy’s heart! I’ll go straight over and tell her so.’ I didn’t dare 


250 THE HARVESTER 


bespeak him, but I was on nettles all night. I jest laid a-studyin’ 
and a-studyin’, and I says, ‘Come mornin’ I'll go straight and give 
her a curry-combin’ that’ll do her good.’ So I started a-feelin’ 
pretty grim, and here you came to meet me, and wiped it all out 
of my heart in a flash. It did look like the boy was grievin’; but 
I know now he was jest thinkin’ up what to put together to take 
the ache out of some poor old carcass like mine. It never could 
have been about you. Like a half blind old fool I thought the boy 
was sufferin’, and here he was only studyin’! Like as not he was 
thinkin’ what to do next to show you how he loves you. What an 
old silly I was! T’ll sleep like a log to-night to pay up for it. 
Good-bye, honey! You better go back and lay down a spell. You 
do look mortal tired.” 

The Girl said good-bye and staggering a few steps sank on a 
log and sat staring at the sky. ! 

“Oh he was suffering, and about me!” she gasped. A chill 
began to shake her and feverish blood to race through her veins. 
“He does and gives everything; I do and give nothing! Oh why 
didn’t I stay at Uncle Henry’s until it ended? It wouldn’t have 
been so bad as this. What shall I do? Oh what shall I do? Oh 
mother, mother! if I’d only had the courage you did.” 

She arose, climbed the hill, passed the cabin and went to the 
oak. ‘There she sank shivering to earth, laying her face among the 
mosses. ‘The frightened Harvester found her at almost dusk when 
he came from the city with the Dutch dishes, and helped a man 
launch a gay little motor boat for her on the lake. 

“Why Ruth! Ruth-girl!” he exclaimed, kneeling beside her. 

She lifted a strained, distorted face. 

“Don’t touch me! Don’t come near me!” she cried. “It is not 
true that I am better. I am not! I am worse! I never will be 
better. And before I go I’ve got to tell you of the debt I owe; then 
you will hate me, and then I will be glad! Glad, I tell you! Glad! 
When you despise me, then I can go, and know that some day 
you will love a girl worthy of you. Oh I want you to hate me! I 
am fit for nothing else.” 

She fell forward sobbing wildly while the Harvester tried in 
vain to quiet her. At last he said: ‘‘Well then tell me, Ruth. Re- 











GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 251 


member I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I will believe 
nothing against you, not even from your own lips, when you are 
feverish and excited as now, but if it will quiet you, tell me and 
have it over. See, I will sit here and listen, and when you have 
finished I’ll pick you up and carry you to your room, and I am 
not sure but I will kiss you over and over. What is it you want to 
tell me, Ruth?” 

She sat up panting and pushed back the heavy coils of hair. 

“T’ve got to begin away at the beginning to make you see,” she 
said. “The first thing I can remember is a small, such a small 
room, and mother sewing and sometimes a man I called father. 
He was like Henry Jameson made over tall and smooth, and 
more, and more, oh, much more heartless! He was gone long at a 
time, and always we had most to eat, and went oftener to the 
parks, and were happiest with him away. When I was big enough 
to understand, mother told me that she had met him and cared 
for him when she was an inexperienced girl. She must have been 
very, very young, for she was only a girl as I first remember her, 
and oh! so lovely, but with the saddest face I ever saw. She said 
she had a good home and every luxury, and her parents adored 
her; but they knew life and men, so they would not allow him in 
their home. She left it with him, and he married her and tried to 
force them to accept him, but they would not. At first she bore it. 
Later she found him out, and appealed to them, but they were 
away or would not forgive. She was a proud thing, and would 
not beg more after she had said she was wrong, and would they 
take her back. 

“As I grew up we were girls together. We embroidered, I drew, 
and sometimes we had little treats and good times. My father-did 
not come often, so we got along the best we could. Always it was 
worse on her, because she was not so strong as I, and her heart 
was secretly breaking for her mother, while she was afraid he 
would come back any hour. She was tortured that she could not 
educate me more than to put me through the high school. She 
wore herself out doing that, but she was wild for me to be reared 
and trained right. So every day she crouched over delicate laces 
and embroidery. Before and after school I carried them and got 


252 THE HARVESTER 


more; vacation we worked together. But living grew higher, she 
became ill, and could not work. I hadn’t her skill, while the draw- 
ings didn’t bring much, and I’d no tools i 

“Ruth, for mercy sake let me take you in my arms. If you must 
tell this to find peace, let me hold you.” 

“Never again,” said the Girl. “You won’t want to in a minute. 
You must hear this, because I can’t bear it any longer. It isn’t fair 
to let you grieve and think me worth loving. Anyway, I couldn’t 
earn what she did. I was afraid, for a great city is heartless to the 
poor. One morning she fainted and couldn’t get up. I can see the 
awful look in her eyes now. She knew what was coming. I didn’t. 
I tried to be grave and to work. Oh it’s no use to go on with that! 
It was just worse and worse. She was lovely and delicate, she was 
my mother, and I adored her. Oh Man! You won’t judge 
harshly?” 

“No!” cried the Harvester, “I won’t judge at all, Ruth. I see 
now. Get it over if you must tell me.” 

“One day she had been dreadfully ill for a long time and there 
was no food or work or money. The last scrap was pawned; she 
simply would not let me notify the charities or tell me who or 
where her people were. She said she had sinned against them and 
broken their hearts; probably they were dead, so I was desperate. 
I walked all day from house to house where I had delivered work, 
but it was no use; no one wanted anything I could do. I went 
back frantic, to find her gnawing her fingers and gibbering in de- 
lirium. She did not know me, so for the first time she implored me 
for food. 

“Then I locked the door and went on the street and I asked a 
woman. She laughed and said she’d report me and I’d be locked 
up for begging. Then I saw a man I passed sometimes. I thought 
he lived close. I went straight to him, and told him my mother 
was very ill, and asked him to help her. He told me to go to the 
proper authorities. I told him I didn’t know who they were or 
where; I had no money and she was a woman of refinement, and 
never would forgive me. I offered, if he would come to see her, 
get her some beef tea, and take care of her while she lived, that 
afterward f 




















GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 253 


The Girl’s frail form shook in a storm of sobs. At last she lifted 
her eyes to the Harvester’s. ““There must be a God, and some- 
where at the last extremity He must come in. The man went with 
me. He was a young doctor who had an office a few blocks away, 
so he knew what to do. He hadn’t much himself, but for several 
weeks he divided. She was more comfortable and not hungry 
when she went. When it was over I dressed her the best I could 
in my graduation dress, folded her hands, and kissed her good- 
bye, then told him I was ready to fulfill my offer; and oh Man!— 
He said he had forgotten!’ 

“God!” panted the Harvester. 

“We couldn’t bury her there. But I remembered my father had 
said he had a brother in the country; once he had been to see us 
when I was very small, so the doctor telegraphed him. He an- 
swered that his wife was sick, and if I were able to work I could 
come. He would bury her, and give me a home. The doctor bor- 
rowed the money and bought the coffin you found her in. He 
couldn’t do better or he would, for he had learned to love her. He 
paid our fares and took us to the train. Before I started I went on 
my knees to him and worshipped him as the Almighty. I am sure 
I told him that I always would be indebted to him, and any time 
he required I would pay. The rest you know.” 

“Have you heard from him, Ruth?” 

“No; 

“Tt was yourself the other day on the bridge?” 

SV eq-? 

“Did he love you?” 

‘Not that I know of. No! Nobody but you would love a girl 
who appeared as I did then.” 

The Harvester strove to keep a set face, but his lips drew back 
from his teeth. 

“Ruth, do you love him?” 

“Love!” cried the Girl. “‘A pale, expressionless word! Adore 
would come closer! I tell you she was delirious with hunger, and 
he fed her. She was suffering horrors, and he eased the pain. She 
was lifeless, and he kept her poor tired body from the dissecting 


254 THE“ HARVESTER 


table. I would have fulfilled my offer, and gone straight into the 
lake, but he spared me, Man! He spared me! Worship is a good 
word. I think I worship him. I tried to tell you. Before you got 
that license, I wanted you to know.” 

“I remember,” said the Harvester. “But no man could have 
guessed that a girl with your face had agony like that in her heart, 
not even when he read deep trouble.” 

“I should have told you then! I should have forced you to 
hear! I was wild with fear of Uncle Henry, and I had nowhere 
to go. Now you know! Go away, and the end will come soon.” 

The Harvester arose and walked a few steps toward the lake, 
where he paused stricken, but fighting for control. For him the 
light had gone out. There was nothing beyond. The one passion 
of his life must live on, satisfied with a touch from lips that loved 
another man. Broken sobbing came to him. He did not even have 
time to suffer. Stumblingly he turned to the Girl, picked her up, 
and sat on the bench holding her closely. 

“Stop it, Ruth!” he said unsteadily. “Stop this! Why should 
you suffer so? I simply will not have it. I will save you against 
yourself and the world. You shall have all happiness yet; I swear 
it, my girl! You are all right. He was a noble man, and he spared 
you because he loved you, of course. I will make you well and 
rosy again; then I will go and find him, and arrange everything 
for you. I have spared you, also; if he doesn’t want you to remain 
here with me, Mrs. Carey would be glad to have you until I can 
free you. Judges are human. It will be a simple matter. Hush, 
Ruth, listen to me! You shall be free! At once, if you say so! You 
shall have him! I will go and bring him here, then I will go away. 
Ruth, darling, stop crying and hear me. You will grow better, 
now that you have told me. It is this secret that has made you 
feverish and kept you ill. Ruth, you shall have happiness yet, if I 
have got to circle the globe and scale the walls of Heaven to find 
it for you.” 

She struggled from his arms and ran toward the lake. When the 
Harvester caught her, she screamed wildly, and struck him with 
her thin white hands. He lifted and carried her to the laboratory, 
where he gave her a few drops from a bottle and soon she became 








GRANNY MORELAND’S VISIT 255 


quiet. Then he took her to the sunshine room, laid her on the 
bed, locked the screens and her door, called Belshazzar to watch, 
and ran to the stable. A few minutes later with distended nostrils 
and indignant heart Betsy, under the flait of an unsparing lash, 
pounded down the hill toward Onabasha. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Love Invades Science 


THE Harvester placed the key in the door, then turned to Doctor 
Carey and the nurse. 

“I drugged her into unconsciousness before I left, but she may 
have returned, at least partially. Miss Barnet, will you kindly see 
if she is ready for the doctor? You needn’t be in the least afraid. 
She has no strength, even in delirium.” 

He opened the door, his head averted. The nurse hurried into 
the room. The Girl on the bed was beginning to toss, moan, and 
mutter. Skilful hands straightened her, arranged the covers, then 
the doctor was called. In the living-room the Harvester paced in 
misery too deep for consecutive thought. As consciousness re- 
turned, the Girl grew wilder, so the nurse could not follow the 
doctor’s directions and care for her. Then Doctor Carey called 
the Harvester. He went in and sitting beside the bed took the 
feverish, wildly beating hands in his strong, cool ones, and began 
stroking them and talking. 

“Easy, honey,” he murmured softly. “Lie quietly while I tell 
you. You mustn’t tire yourself. You are wasting strength you need 
to fight the fever. I’ll hold your hands tight, I’ll stroke your head 
for you. Lie quietly, dear, and Doctor Carey and his head nurse 
are going to make you well in a little while. That’s right! Let me 
do the moving; you lie and rest. Only rest and rest, until all the 
pain is gone, and the strong days come, and they are going to 
bring great joy, love, and peace, to my dear, dear girl. Even the 





i ee ee eet Ss 


oo 





LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 257 


moans take strength. Try just to lie quietly and rest. You can’t 
hear Singing Water if you don’t listen, Ruth.” 

“She doesn’t realize that it is you or know what you say, 
David,” said Doctor Carey gently. 

“T understand,” said the Harvester. “But if you will observe, 
you will see that she is quiet when I stroke her head and hands, 
and if you notice closely you will grant that she gets a word occa- 
sionally. If it is the right one, it helps. She knows my voice and 
touch, and she is less nervous and afraid with me. Watch a 
minute!” 

The Harvester took both of the Girl’s fluttering hands in one 
of his and with long, light strokes gently brushed them, then her 
head, and face, then her hands again, while in a low, monoto- 
nous, half sing-song voice he crooned: “Rest, Ruth, rest! It is 
night now. The moon is bridging Loon Lake, and the whip-poor- 
will is crying. Listen, dear, don’t you hear him crying? Still, Girl, 
still! Just as quiet! Lie so quietly. The whip-poor-will is going to 
tell his mate he loves her, loves her so dearly. He is going to tell 
her, when you listen. That’s a dear girl. Now he is beginning. He 
says: ‘Come over the lake and listen to the song I’m singing to 
you, my mate, my mate, my dear, dear mate,’ and the big night 
moths are flying; and the katydids are crying, positive and sure 
they are crying, a thing that’s past denying. Hear them crying? 
And the ducks are cheeping, soft little murmurs while they’re 
sleeping, sleeping. Resting, softly resting! Gently, Girl, gently! 
Down the hill comes Singing Water, laughing, laughing! Don’t 
you hear it laughing? Listen to the big owl courting; it sees the 
coon out hunting, it hears the mink softly slipping, slipping, 
where the dews of night are dripping. And the little birds are 
sleeping, so still they are sleeping. Girls should be a-sleeping, like 
the birds a-sleeping, for to-morrow joy comes creeping, joy and 
life and love come creeping, creeping to my Girl. Gently, gently, 
that’s a dear girl, gently! Tired hands rest easy, tired head lies 
still! That’s the way to rest 5 

On and on the even voice kept up the story. All over and 
around the lake, the length of Singing Water, the marsh folk 
found voices to tell of their lives, where it was a story of joy, rest, 





258 THE HARVESTER 


and love. Up the hill ranged the Harvester, through the forest 
where the squirrels slept, the owl hunted, the fire-flies flickered, 
the fairies squeezed flower leaves to make colour to paint the 
autumn foliage, or danced on toadstool platforms. As long as his 
voice murmured and his touch continued, so long the Girl lay 
quietly, and the medicines could act. But no other touch or voice 
would serve. If the Harvester left the room five minutes, to show 
the nurse how to light the fire, and where to find things, he re- 
turned to tossing, restless delirium. 

“It’s magic David,” said Doctor Carey. “Magic!” 

“It is love,” said the Harvester. “Even crazed with fever, she 
recognizes its voice and touch. You’ve got your work cut out, 
Doc. Roll your sleeves and collect your wits. Set your heart on 
winning. There is one thing shall not happen. Get that straight in 
your mind, right now. And you too, Miss Barnet! There is noth- 
ing like fighting for a certainty. You may think the Girl is desper- 
ately ill, and she is, but make up your minds that you are here to 
fight for her life, and to save it. Save, do you understand? If she 
is to go, I don’t need either of you. I can let her do that myself, 
You are here on a mission of life. Keep it before you! Life and 
health for this Girl is the prize you are going to win. Dig into it, 
and I'll pay the bills, and extra besides. If money is any incentive, 
I'll give you all I’ve got for life and health for the Girl. Are you 
doing all you know?” | 

“I certainly am, David.” 

“But when day comes you'll have to go back to the hospital 
and we may not know how to meet crises that will arise. What 
then? We should have a competent physician in the house until 
this fever breaks.” 

“I had thought of that, David. I will arrange to send one of the 
men from the hospital who will be able to watch symptoms and 
come for me when needed.” 

“Won’t do!” said the Harvester calmly. “She has no strength 
for waiting. You are to come when you can, and remain as long 
as possible. The case is yours; your decisions go, but I will select 
your assistant. I know the man I want.” 

“Who is he, David?” 


ee 





RPE Nt NGO LETS et ER 








LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 259 


“T’ll tell you when I learn whether I can get him. Now I want 
you to give the Girl the strongest sedative you dare, take off your 
coat, roll your sleeves, and see how well you can imitate my voice, 
and how much you have profited by listening to my song. In other 
words, before day calls, I want you to take my place so success- 
fully that you deceive her, and give me time to make a trip to 
town. There are a few things that must be done, and I think I 
can work faster in the night. Will you?” 

Doctor Carey bent over the bed. Gently he slipped a practised 
hand under the Harvester’s, gradually he took possession of the 
thin hands, and his touch fell on the masses of dark hair. As the 
Harvester arose the doctor took the seat. 

“You go on!” he ordered. “I'll do better alone.” 

The Harvester stepped back. The doctor’s touch was easy so 
the Girl lay quietly for an instant, then she moved restlessly. 

“You must be still now,” he said gently. ““The moon is up, the 
lake is all white, and the birds are flying all around. Lie still or 
you'll make yourself worse. Stiller than that! If you don’t you 
can’t hear things courting. The ducks are quacking, the bullfrogs 
are croaking, and everything. Lie still, still, I tell you!” 

“Oh good Lord, Doc!” groaned the Harvester. 

The Girl wrenched her hands free while her head rolled on the 
pillow. 

“Harvester! Harvester!” she cried. 

The doctor started to arise. 

“Sit still !’? commanded the Harvester. “Take her hands and go 
to work, idiot! Give her more sedative, tell her I’m coming. 
That’s the word, if she realizes enough to call for me.” 

The doctor possessed himself of the flying hands; gently held 
and stroked them. 

“The Harvester is coming,” he said. “Wait just a minute, he’s 
on the way. He is coming. I think I hear him. He will be here 
soon, very soon now. That’s a good girl! Lie still for David. He 
won’t like it if you toss and moan. Just as still, lie still so I can 
listen. I can’t tell whether he is coming until you are quiet.” 

Then he said to the Harvester: “You see, I’ve got it now. I 
can manage her, but for pity sake, hurry man! Take the car! Jim 


bb) 


260 THE HARVESTER 


is asleep on the back seat—Yes, yes, Girl! I’m listening for him. 
I think I hear him! I think he’s coming!” 

The Harvester ran to the car, awakened the driver and told 
him he had a clear road to Onabasha, to speed up. 

“Where to?” asked the driver. 

“Dickson, of the First National.” 

In a few minutes the car stopped before the residence. The 
Harvester made an attack on the front door. Presently the man 
came. 

“Excuse me for routing you out at this time of night,” said the 
Harvester, “but it’s a case of necessity. I have an automobile here. 
I want you to go to the bank with me, and get me an address 
from your draft records. I know the rules, but I want the name 
of my wife’s Chicago physician. She is delirious, so I must tele- 
phone him.” 

The cashier stepped out and closed the door. “Nine chances 
out of ten it will be in the vault,” he said. 

“That leaves one that it won’t,” answered the Harvester. 
“Sometimes I’ve looked in when passing in the night. I’ve noticed 
that the books are not always put away. I could see some on the 
rack to-night. I think it is there.” 

It was there, so the Harvester ordered the driver to hurry him 
to the telephone exchange. He called the Chicago Information 
office. 

“I want Dr. Frank Harmon, whose office address is 1 509 Co- 
lumbia Street. I don’t know the ’phone number.” 

Then came a long wait. After twenty minutes he heard the 
blessed buzzing whisper: “Here’s your party.” 

“Doctor Harmon?” 

iN peer 

“You remember Ruth Jameson, the daughter of a recent pa- 
tient of yours?” 

ST do.” 

“Well my name is Langston. The Girl is in my home and care. 
She is very ill with fever, and she has much confidence in you. 
This is Onabasha, on the Grand Rapids and Indiana. You take 
the Pennsylvania at seven o’clock, telegraph ahead that you are 


} 
¢: 
fk 
} 








LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 261 


coming so that they will make connection for you, change at 
twelve-twenty at Fort Wayne, and I will meet you here. You will 
find your ticket and a check waiting you at the Chicago depot. 
Arrange to remain a week at least. You will be paid all expenses 
and regular prices for your time. Will you come?” 

Yes” 

“All right. Make no failure. Good-bye.” 

The Harvester left an order with the telephone company to run 
a wire to Medicine Woods the first thing in the morning, then 
drove to the depot to arrange for the ticket and check. In less 
than an hour he was holding the Girl’s hands and crooning over 
her. 

“Jerusalem!” said Doctor Carey, rising stiffly. “I’d rather un- 
dertake to cut off your head and put it back on than to tackle 
another job like that. She’s quite delirious, but she has flashes, 
and at such times she knows whom she wants; the rest of the time 
it’s a jumble and some of it is rather gruesome. She’s seen dread- 
ful illness, hunger, and there’s a debt she’s wild about. I told you 
something was back of this. You’ve got to find out and set her 
mind at ease.” 

“T know all about it,” said the Harvester. “But the crash came 
before I could convince her that it was all right and I could fix 
everything for her easily. If she only could understand me!” 

“Did you find your man?” 

“Yes. He will be here this afternoon.” 

“Quick work!” 

“This takes quick work.” 

“Do you know anything about him?” 

“Yes. He is a young fellow, just starting out. He is a fine, 
straight, manly man. I don’t know how much he knows, but it 
will be enough to recognize your ability and standing, and to do 
what you tell him. I have perfect confidence in him. I want you 
to come back at one, and take my place until I go to meet him.” 

“T can bring him out.” 

“TI have to see him myself. There are a few words to be said 
before he sees the Girl.” 

“David, what are you up to?” 


262 THE HARVESTER 


“Being as honourable as I can. No man gets any too decent, 
but there is no law against doing as you would be done by, or 
being as straight as you know how. When I’ve talked to him, Pll 
know where I stand, then I'll have something to say to you.” 

“David, I’m afraid 7 

“Then what do you suppose I am?” said the Harvester. “It’s 
no use, Doc. Be still and take what comes! The manner in which 
you meet a crisis proves you a whining cur or a man. I have got 
lots of respect for a dog, as a dog; but I’ve none for a man as a 
dog. If you’ve gathered from the Girl’s delirium that ve made a 
mistake, I hope you have confidence enough in me to believe [Il 
right it, and take my punishment without whining. Go away, you 
make her worse. Easy, Girl, the world is all right and every one 
is sleeping now, so you should be at rest. With the day the doctor 
will come, the good doctor, you know and like, Ruth. You haven’t 
forgotten your doctor, Ruth? The kind doctor who cared for you. 
He will make you well, Ruth; well and oh, so happy! Harmon, 
Harmon, Doctor Harmon is coming to you, Girl; then you will 
be so happy!” 

“Why you blame idiot!”’ cried Doctor Carey in a harsh temper. 
“Have you lost all the sense you ever had? Stop that gibber! She 
wants to hear about the birds and Singing Water. Go on with 
that woods line of talk; she likes that away the best. ‘This stuff is 
making her restless. See!”’ 

‘You mean you are,” said the Harvester wearily. “‘Please leave 
us alone. I know the words that will bring comfort. You don’t.” 

He began the story all over again, but now there ran through it 
a continual refrain. “Your doctor is coming, the good doctor you 
know. He will make you well and strong, and he will make life 
so lovely for you.” 

He was talking without pause or rest when Doctor Carey re- 
turned in the afternoon to take his place. He brought Mrs. Carey 
with him. She tried a woman’s powers of soothing another 
woman, and almost drove the Girl to fighting frenzy. So the doc- 
tor made another attempt, while the Harvester raced down the 
hill to the city. He went to the car shed as the train pulled in, and 
stood at one side while the people hurried through the gate. 





LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 263 


“T think I'll know him,” muttered the Harvester grimly. “I 
think the masculine element in me will pop up instinctively at the 
sight of this man who will take my Dream Girl from me. Oh good 
God! Are You sure You are good?” 

In his brown khaki trousers and shirt, his head bare, his bronze 
face limned with agony he made no attempt to conceal, the Har- 
vester with feet planted firmly, and tightly folded arms, his head 
tipped slightly to one side, braced himself as he sent his keen gray 
eyes searching the crowd. Far away he selected his man. He was 
young, strong, criminally handsome, clean and alert; there was 
discernible anxiety on his face, while it touched the Harvester’s 
heart that he was coming just as swiftly as he could force his way. 
As he passed the gates the Harvester reached his side. 

“Doctor Harmon, I think,”’ he said. 

“Ves.”? 

“This way! If you have luggage, I will send for it later.” ‘The 
Harvester hurried to the car. “Take the shortest cut and cover 
space,” he said to the driver. 

Doctor Harmon removed his hat, ran his fingers through dark 
waving hair and yielded his body to the swing of the car. Neither 
man attempted to talk. Once the Harvester leaned forward and 
told the driver to stop on the bridge, and then sat silently. As the 
car slowed down, they alighted. 

“Drive on and tell Doc we are here, and will be up soon,” said 
the Harvester. ‘Then he turned to the stranger. “Doctor Harmon, 
there’s little time for words. This is my place, and here I grow 
herbs for medicinal houses.” 

“I have heard of you, and heard your stuff recommended,” 
said the doctor. 

“Good!” exclaimed the Harvester. ‘“That saves time. I stopped 
here to make a required explanation to you. The day you sent 
Ruth Jameson to Onabasha, I saw her leave the train and recog- 
nized in her my ideal woman. I lost her in the crowd and it took 
some time to locate her. I found her about a month ago. She was 
miserable. If you saw what her father did to her and her mother 
in Chicago, you should have seen what his brother was doing 
here. The end came one day in my presence, when I paid her for 


264 THE HARVESTER 


ginseng she had found to settle her debt to you. He robbed her by 
force. I took the money from him, then he threatened her. She 
was ill then from heat, overwork, wrong food—every misery you 
can imagine heaped upon the dreadful conditions in which she 
came. It had been my intention to court and marry her if I pos- 
sibly could. That day she had nowhere to go; she was wild with 
fear; the fever that is scorching her now was in her veins then. I 
did an insane thing. I begged her to marry me at once and come 
here for rest and protection. I swore that if she would, she should 
not be my wife, but my honoured guest, until she learned to love 
me and released me from my vow. She tried to tell me something; 
I had no idea it was anything that would make any real differ- 
ence, so I wouldn’t listen. Last night, when the fever was begin- 
ning to do its worst, she told me of your entrance into her life and 
what it meant to her. Then I saw that I had made a mistake. You 
were her choice, the man she could love, not me, so I took the 
liberty of sending for you. I want you to cure her, court her, 
marry her, and make her happy. God knows she has had her 
share of suffering. You recognize her as a girl of refinement?” 

rad Ba a a 

“You grant that in health she would be lovelier than most 
women, do you not?” 

“She was more beautiful than most in sickness and distress.” 

“Good!” cried the Harvester. “She has been here two weeks. I 
give you my word, my promise to her has been kept faithfully. 
As soon as IJ can leave her to attend to it, she shall have her free- 
dom. That will be easy. Will you marry her?” 

The doctor hesitated. 

‘What is it?” asked the Harvester. 

“Well to be frank,” said Doctor Harmon, “it is money! I’m 
only getting a start. I borrowed funds for my schooling and what 
I used for her. She is in every way attractive enough to be de- 
sired by any man, but how am I to provide a home and support 
her and pay these debts? I’ll try it, but I am afraid it will be 
taking her back to wrong conditions again.” 

“If you knew that she owned a comfortable cottage in the 
suburbs, where it is cool and clean, and had, say a hundred a 


LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 265 


month of her own for the coming three years, could you see your 
way?” 

“That would make all the difference in the world. I thought 
seriously of writing her. I wanted to, but I concluded I'd better 
work as hard as I could for some practice first. I had no idea she 
would not be comfortably cared for at her uncle’s.” 

“T see,” said the Harvester. “If I had kept out, life would have 
come right for her.” 

“On the contrary,” said the doctor, “it appears very probable 
that she would not be living.” 

“Tt is understood between us, then, that you will court and 
marry her so soon as she is strong enough?” 

“It is understood,” agreed the doctor. 

“Will you honour me by taking my hand?’ asked the Har- 
vester. “I scarcely had hoped to find so much of a man. Now 
come to your room and get ready for the stiffest piece of work you 
ever attempted.” 

The Harvester led the way to the guest chamber overlooking 
the lake, and installed its first occupant. Then he hurried to the 
Girl. It took him ten strenuous minutes to make his touch and 
presence known and to work quiet. All over he began crooning 
his story of rest, joy, and love. He broke off with a few words to 
introduce Doctor Harmon to the Careys and the nurse; then 
calmly continued while the other men stood watching him. 

“Seems rather cut out for it,’ commented Doctor Harmon. 

“I never yet have seen him attempt anything that he didn’t 
appear cut out for,” answered Doctor Carey. 

“Will she know me?” inquired the young man, approaching 
the bed. 

When the Girl’s eyes fell on him she lay staring at him. Sud- 
denly with a wild cry she struggled to rise. 

“You have come!” she cried. “Oh I knew you would come! I 
felt you would come! I cannot pay you now! Oh why didn’t you 
come sooner?” 

The young doctor leaned over, taking one of the white hands 
from the Harvester. 

“Why you did pay, Ruth! How did you come to forget? Don’t 


266 THE HARVESTER 


you remember the draft you sent me? I didn’t come for money; 
I came to visit you, to nurse you, to do all I can to make you well. 
I am going to take care of you now so finely you’ll be out on the 
lake and among the flowers soon. I’ve got some medicine that 
makes every one well. It’s going to make you strong, and there’s 
something else that’s going to make you happy; and me, I’m 
going to be the proudest man alive.” 

He reached over and took possession of the other hand, strok- 
ing them softly, while the Girl lay tensely staring at him, gradu- 
ally yielding to his touch and voice. The Harvester arose, and 
passing around the bed, he placed a chair for Doctor Harmon 
and motioning for Doctor Carey left the room. He went to the 
Shore to his swimming pool, wearily dropped on the bench, and 
stared across the water. 

“Well thank God it worked, anyway!” he muttered. 

““What’s that popinjay doing here?” thundered Doctor Carey. 
“Got some medicine that cures everybody. Going to make her 
well, is he? Make the cows, and the ducks, and the chickens, and 
the shitepokes well, and happy—no name for it! After this we are 
all going to be well and happy! You look it right now, David! 
What under Heaven have you done?” 

“Left my wife with the man she loves, and to whom I release 
her, my dear friend,” said the Harvester. “And it’s so easy for me 
that you needn’t give any thought to making it a little harder.” 

“David, forgive me!’’ cried Doctor Carey. “I don’t understand 
this. Will you tell me what it means?” 

“Means that I took advantage of the Girl’s illness, utter loneli- 
ness, and fear, and forced her into marrying me for shelter and 
care, when she loved and wanted another man, who was prepar- 
ing to come to her. He is her Chicago doctor, and fine in every 
fibre, as you can see. There is only one thing on earth for me to 
do; that is to get out of their way, and I’ll do it as soon as she is 
well; but I vow I won’t leave her poor, tired body until she is, ° 
not even for him. I thought sure I could teach her to love me! 
Oh, but this is bitter Doc!” 

“You are a consummate fool to bring him here!’’ cried Doctor 
Carey. “If she is too sick to realize the situation now, she will be 


LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 267 


different when she is normal again. Any sane girl that wouldn’t 
love you, David, ain’t fit for anything!” 

“Yes, I’m a whale of a lover!” said the Harvester grimly. “Nice 
mess I’ve made of it. But there is no real harm done. Thank God, 
Harmon was not the only white man.” 

“David, what do you mean?” 

“Ts it between us, Doc?” 

“S¥'en!!? 

“For all time?” 

“Tt is.” 

The Harvester told him. He ended: ‘‘Give the fellow his dues, 
Doc. He had her at his mercy, utterly alone and unprotected, in a 
big city. There was not a living soul to hold him to account. He 
added to his burdens, borrowed more money, and sent her here. 
He thought she was coming to the country where she would be 
safe and well cared for until he could support her. I did the re- 
mainder. Now I must undo it, that’s all! But you have got to go 
in there and practise with him. You’ve got to show him every 
courtesy of the profession. You must go a little over the rules, and 
teach him all you can. You will have to stifle your feelings, and be 
as much of a man as it is in you to be, at your level best.” 

“I’m no good at stifling my feelings!” 

“Then you'll have to learn,” said the Harvester. “If you’d lived 
through my years of repression in the woods you’d do the fellow 
credit. As I see it, his side of this is nearly as fine as you make it. 
I tell you she was utterly stricken, alone, and beautiful. She 
sought his assistance. When the end came he thought only of her. 
Won’t you give a young fellow in a place like Chicago some credit 
for that? Can’t you get through you what it means?” 

Doctor Carey stood frowning in deep thought, but the lines of 
his face gradually changed. 

“T suppose I’ve got to stomach him,” he said. 

The nurse came down the gravel path. “Mr. Langston, Doctor 
Harmon asked me to call you,” she said. 

“What does he want, Molly?” asked the doctor. 

“Wants to turn over his job,’ chuckled the nurse. “He held it 
about seven minutes in peace; then she began to fret and call for 


268 THE HARVESTER 


the Harvester. He just sweat blood to pacify her, but he couldn’t 
make it. He tried to hold her, to make love to her, but she strug- 
gled and cried, ‘David,’ until he had to give it up and send me.” 

“Molly,” said Doctor Carey, “we've known the Harvester a 
long time, and he is our friend, isn’t he?” 

“Of course!” said the nurse. 

“We know this is the first woman he ever loved, probably ever 
will, as he is made. Now we don’t like this stranger butting in 
here; we resent it, Molly. We are on the side of our friend, so we 
want him to win. I'll grant that this fellow is fine, that he has 
done well, but what’s the use in tearing up arrangements already 
made? And so suitable! Now Molly, you are my best nurse, and a 
good reliable aid in times like this. I gave you instructions an 
hour ago. [ll add this to them. You are on the Harvester’s side. 
Do you understand? In this, and the days to come, you’ll have a 
thousand chances to put in a lick with a sick woman. Put them in 
as I tell you.” 

“Yes, Doctor Carey.” 

“And Molly! You are something besides my best nurse. You’re 
a smashing pretty girl, and your occupation should make you es- 
pecially attractive to a young doctor. I’m sure this fellow is all 
right, so while you are doing your best with your patient for the 
Harvester, why not have a try for yourself with the doctor? It 
couldn’t do any harm, and it might straighten out matters. Any- 
way, you think it over.” 

The nurse began to laugh. 

‘He is up there doing his best with her,” she said. 

The doctor threw out his hands in a gesture of disdain, so the 
nurse laughed again; but her cheeks were pink, her eyes flashing 
as she returned to duty. 

“Random shot, but it might hit something, you never can tell,” 
commented the doctor. 

The Harvester entered the Girl’s room and stood still. She was 
fretting and raising her temperature rapidly. Before he reached 
the door his heart gave one great leap at the sound of her voice 
calling his name. He knew what to do, but he hesitated. 


LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 269 


“She seems to have become accustomed to you, and at times 
does not remember me,” said Doctor Harmon. “I think you had 
better take her again until she grows quiet.”’ 

The Harvester stepped to the bed and looked the doctor in the 
eye. 

“TI am afraid I left out one important feature in our little talk 
on the bridge,” he said. “I neglected to tell you that in your fight 
for this woman’s life and love you have a rival. I am he. She is 
my wife, and with the last fibre of my being I adore her. If you 
win, and she wants you to take her away, I will help you; but my 
heart goes with her forever. If by any chance it should occur that 
I have been mistaken or misinterpreted her delirium or that she 
has been deceived and finds she prefers me and Medicine Woods, 
to you and Chicago, when she has had opportunity to measure us 
man against man, you must understand that I claim her. So I say 
to you frankly, take her if you can, but don’t imagine that I am 
passive. I'll help you if I know she wants you, but I fight you 
every inch of the way. Only it has got to be square and open. Do 
you understand?” 

“You are certainly sufficiently clear.” 

“No man who is half a man sees the last chance of happiness 
go from his life without putting up the stiffest battle he knows,” 
said the Harvester grimly. “Ruth-girl, you are raising the fever 
again. You must be quiet.” 

With infinite tenderness he possessed himself of her hands, then 
began stroking her hair, while in a low and soothing voice the 
story of the birds, flowers, lake, and woods continued. To keep it 
from growing monotonous the Harvester branched out, putting 
in everything he knew. In the days that followed he held a posi- 
tion none could take from him. While the doctors fought the 
fever, he worked for rest and quiet, soothing the tortured body as 
best he could, that the medicines might act. 

But the fever was stubborn; the remedies were slow; long be- 
fore the dreaded coming day the doctors and nurse were quietly 
saying to each other that when the crisis came the heart would 
fail. There would not be enough vitality to sustain life. But they 


270 THE HARVESTER 


did not dare tell the Harvester. Day and night he sat beside the 
maple bed or stretched sleeping a few minutes on the couch while 
the Girl slept. With faith never faltering and courage unequalled, 
he warned them to have their remedies and appliances ready. 

“I don’t say it’s going to be easy,” he said. ‘“‘I merely state that 
it must be done. And I'll also mention that, when the hour comes, 
the man who discovers that he could do something if he had 
digitalis, or a remedy he should have had ready and; has forgot- 
ten, that man had better keep from my sight. Make your prepa- 
rations now. ‘Talk the case over. Fill your hypodermics. Clean 
your air pumps. Get your hot-water bottles ready. Have system. 
Label your stuff large and set it conveniently. You see what is 
coming, be prepared!” | 

One day, while the Girl lay in a half-drugged, feverish sleep, 
the Harvester went for a swim. He dressed a little sooner than was 
expected and in crossing the living-room he heard. Doctor. Har- 
mon say to Doctor Carey on the veranda: ‘‘What are we going 
to do with him when the end comes?” | 

The Harvester stepped to the door. “That won’t be the ques- 
tion,” he said grimly. “It will be what will he do with us?” 

Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, he caught 
Doctor Harmon at the waist line, lifted and dangled him as a 
baby, then stood him on the floor. “Didn’t hardly expect that 
much muscle, did you?” he inquired lightly. “And I’m not in 
what you could call condition, either. Instead of wasting any 
time on fool questions like that, you two go over your stuff and 
ask each other, have we got every last appliance known to physics 
and surgery? Have we got duplicates on hand in case we break 
delicate instruments like hypodermic syringes and that sort of 
thing? Engage yourselves with questions pertaining to life; that is 
your business. Instead of planning what you’ll do in failure, bol- 
ster your souls against it. Granny Moreland beats you two put 
together in grip and courage.” 

The Harvester returned to his task, so the fight went on. At 
last the hour came when the temperature fell lower and lower. 
The feeble pulses flickered, then grew indiscernible; a gray pallor 
spread over the Girl, while a cold sweat stood on her temples. 


LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 271 


“Now!” said the Harvester. “Exercise your calling! Fight like 
men or devils, but win you must.” 

They did work. They administered stimulants; applied heat to 
the chilled body; fans swept the room with vitalized air; hypo- 
dermics were used; every last resort known to science was given 
a full test, yet the weak heart throbbed slower and slower, while 
life ran out with each breath. The Harvester stood waiting with 
set jaws. He could detect no change for the better. At last he 
picked up a chilled hand, but could discover no pulse, while the 
gray nails and the dark tips told a story of arrested circulation. 
He laid down the hand and faced the men. 

“This is what you'd call the crisis, Doc?” he asked gently. 

“Ves,.”? 

“Are you stemming it? Are you stemming it? Are you sure she 
is holding her own?” 

Doctor Carey looked at him silently. 

“Have you done all you can do?” asked the Harvester. 

Vies.”? 

“You believe her going out?” 

SV pg'?? 

The Harvester turned to Doctor Harmon. “Do you concur in 
that?” 

“Ves,” 

Then to the nurse, “And you?” 

Wess” 

“Then,” said the Harvester, “all of you are useless. Get out of 
here. I don’t want your atmosphere. If you can believe only in 
death, leave us! She is my wife, and if this is the end she belongs 
to me. I will do as I choose with her. All of you go!” 

The Harvester stepped to the bathroom door to call Granny 
Moreland: “‘Granny,” he said, “science has turned tail, leaving 
me in extremity. Fill your hot-water bottles and come in here 
with your heart big with hope and help me save my Dream Girl. 
She is breathing, Granny; we’ve got to make her keep it up, that’s 
all—merely keep her breathing.” 

He returned to the sunshine room, placed a small table beside 
the bed; on it a glass of water, spoon, and a hypodermic syringe. 


272 THE HARVESTER 


When Granny Moreland came he said: “Now you begin on her 
feet and rub with long, sweeping, upward strokes to drive the 
blood to her heart.” 

Around the Girl he piled hot-water bottles and breathlessly 
hung over her, rubbing her hands. He wiped the perspiration 
from her forehead; then dropped by her bed and for a second 
laid his face on her cold palm. 

“If I am wrong, Heaven forgive me,” he prayed. “And you, 
oh, my darling Dream Girl, forgive me, but I am forced to try— 
God helping me! Amen.” 

He arose, took a small bottle from his pocket, filled the spoon 
with water, then measured into it three drops of liquid as yellow 
as gold. Then he held the spoon to the blue lips, with his fingers 
worked apart the set teeth, and poured the medicine down her 
throat. Then they rubbed and muttered snatches of prayer for 
fifteen minutes when the Harvester administered another three 
drops. It might have been fancy, but it seemed to him her jaws 
were not so stiff. Faster flew his hands while he sent Granny 
Moreland to refill the hot bottles. When he gave the Girl the third 
dose he injected some of the liquid over her heart and of the 
glycerine the doctors had left, in the extremities. He released more 
air, then began rubbing again. 

The second hour started in the same way, but ended with 
slowly relaxing muscles and faint tinges of colour in the white 
cheeks. The feet were not so cold; when the Harvester held the 
spoon he knew that the Girl made an effort to swallow, while he 
could see her eyelids tremble. Thereupon he pointed these signs to 
Granny, imploring her to rub and pray, and pray and rub, while 
he worked until the perspiration rolled down his gray face. At the 
end of the second hour he began decreasing the doses and short- 
ening the time, while again he commenced in a low rumble his 
song of life and health, to encourage the Girl as consciousness 
returned. 

Occasionally Doctor Carey opened the door slightly, peeping in 
to see if he were wanted, but he received no invitation to enter. 
The last time he left with the impression that the Harvester was 
raving, while he worked over a lifeless body. He had the Girl 


LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 273 


warmly covered as he bent over her face and hands. At her feet 
crouched Granny Moreland, rubbing, still rubbing, beneath the 
covers, while in a steady stream the Harvester was pouring out 
his song. If the doctor had listened an instant longer he would 
have recognized that the tone and the words had changed. Now 
it was, “Gently, breathe gently, Girl! Slowly, steadily, easily! 
Deeper, a little deeper, Ruth! Brave Girl, never another so won- 
derful! That’s my Dream Girl coming from the shadows, coming 
to life’s sunshine, coming to hope, coming to love! Deeper, just a 
little deeper! Smoothly and evenly! You are making it, Girl! You 
are making it! By all that is holy and glorious! Stick to it, Ruth, 
hold tight to me! I’ll help you, dear! You are coming, coming 
back to life and love. Don’t worry yourself trying too hard, if 
only you can send every breath as deeply as the last one, you can 
make it. You brave girl! You wonderful Dream Girl! Ah, Ruth, 
the name of this is victory!” 

An hour before Doctor Carey had said to Doctor Harmon and 
the nurse, as he softly closed the door: “It is over. The Harvester 
is raving. We’ll give him more time to see if he won’t realize it 
himself. That will be easier for him than for us to try to tell him.” 

Now he opened the door, stared a second, and coming to the 
opposite side of the bed, he leaned over the Girl. Then he felt her 
feet. They were warm and slightly damp. A surprised look crept 
over his face. He gently reached for a hand that the Harvester 
vielded to him. It was warm, the blue tips becoming rosy, the 
wrist pulse discernible. Then he bent closer, touched her face, and 
saw the tremulous eyelids. He turned back the cover, and held his 
ear over her heart. When he straightened, ‘“‘As God lives, she’s got 
a chance, David!” he exulted in an awed whisper. 

The Harvester lifted a graven face, down which the sweat of 
agony rolled, while his lips parted in a twitching smile. “Then, 
this is where love beats the doctors, Carey!” he said. 

“Tt is where love ventured something science dared not. Love 
didn’t do all of this. In the name of the Almighty, what did you 
give her, David?” 

“Tife!”? cried the Harvester. “Life! Come on, Ruth, come on! 
Out of the valley come to me! You are well now, Girl! It’s all 


274 THE HARVESTER 


over! The last trace of fever is gone, the last of the dull ache. Can 
you swallow just two more drops of bottled sunshine, Ruth?” 

The flickering lids slowly opened, then the big black eyes 
looked straight into the Harvester’s. He met them steadily, smil- 
ing encouragement. 

“Hang on to each breath, dear heart!’ he urged. ‘The fever is 
gone. The pain is over! Long life and the love you crave are for 
you. You’ve only to keep breathing a few more hours and the 
battle is yours. Glorious Girl! Noble! You are doing finely! Ruth, 
do you know me?” 

Her lips moved. 

“Don’t try to speak,” said the Harvester. “Don’t waste breath 
on a word. Save the good oxygen to strengthen your tired body. 
But if you do know me, maybe you could smile, Ruth!” 

She could barely smile, that was all. F eeble, flickering, tran- 
Sient, but as it crossed the living face the Harvester lifted her 
hands, kissing them over and over, back, palm, and finger tips. 

“Now just one more drop, honey; then a long rest. Will you 
try it again for me?” 

She assented, so the Harvester took the bottle from his pocket, 
poured the drop, and held the spoon to willing lips. The big eyes 
were on him with a question. The Harvester understood. 

“Yes, it’s mine! It’s got sixty years of wonderful life in it, every 
one of them full of love and happiness for my dear Dream Girl. 
Can you take it, Ruth?” 

Her lips parted, the wine of life passed between. She smiled 
faintly, then her eyelids dropped shut, but presently they opened 
again. 

“David!” 

“My Dream Girl!” 

“Harvester?” 

ves le 

“Medicine Man?” 

“Don’t, Ruth! Save every breath to help your heart.” 

pLate?y 

“Life it is, Girl!’ exulted the Harvester. “Long life! Love! 
Home! The man you love! Every happiness that ever came to a 


LOVE INVADES SCIENCE 275 


girl! Nothing shall be denied you! Nothing shall be lacking! It’s 
all in your hands now, Ruth. We’ve all done everything we can; 
you must do the remainder. It’s your work to send every breath 
as deeply as you can. Doc, release another tank of air. Are her 
feet warm, Granny? Let the nurse take your place now. And, 
honey, go to sleep! Ill keep watch for you. Pll measure each 
breath you draw. If they shorten or weaken, Ill wake you for 
more medicine. You can trust me! Always you can trust me, 
Ruth.” 

The Girl smiled, then fell into a light, even slumber. Granny 
Moreland stumbled to the couch, and rolled on it sobbing with 
nervous exhaustion. Doctor Carey called the nurse to take her 
place. Then he came to the Harvester’s side and whispered: “Let 
me, David!” 

The Harvester looked up with his queer grin, but he made no 
motion to arise. 

“Won’t you trust me, David? I’ll watch as if it were my own 
wife.” 

“T wouldn’t trust any man on earth, for the coming three 
hours,” replied the Harvester. “If she keeps this up that long, she 
is safe. Go and rest until I call you.” 

He again bent over the Girl, one hand on her left wrist, the 
other over her heart, his eyes on her lips, watching the depth and 
strength of her every breath. Regularly he administered the medi- 
cine he was giving her. Sometimes she took it half asleep; again 
she gave him a smile that to the Harvester was the supreme thing 
of earth or Heaven. Toward the end of the long vigil, in exhaus- 
tion he slipped to the floor, laid his head on the side of the bed, 
so for a second his hand relaxed and he fell asleep. The Girl 
awakened as his touch loosened, on looking down she saw his 
huddled body. A second later the Harvester awoke with a guilty 
start to find her fingers twisted in the shock of hair on the top of 
his head. 

“Poor stranded Girl,’ he muttered. “She’s clinging to me for 
life. You can stake all you are worth she’s going to get it!’ 

Then he gently relaxed her grip, gave her the last dose he felt 
necessary, yielded his place to Doctor Carey and staggered up the 


276 THE HARVESTER 


hill. As the sun peeped over Medicine Woods he stretched himself 
between the two mounds under the oak, while for a few minutes 
his body was rent with the awful, torn sobbing of a strong man. 
Belshazzar whining pitifully nosed the twisting figure. A chatter- 
ing little marsh wren tilted on a bush and scolded. A blue jay 
perched above, trying to decide whether there were cause for an 
alarm signal. A snake coming from the water to hunt birds ran 
close to him, then changing its course, went weaving away among 
the mosses. Gradually the pent forces spent themselves, so for 
hours the Harvester lay in the deep sleep of exhaustion, while 
stretched beside him, Belshazzar guarded with anxious dog eyes. 


CHAPTER” AVITI 


The Better Man 


IN THE middle of the afternoon the Harvester arose, went into 
the lake, ate a hearty dinner, then took up his watch again. For 
two days and nights he kept his place, until he had the Girl out 
of danger, and where careful nursing was all that was required 
to insure life and health. As he sat beside her the last day, his 
physical endurance strained to the breaking point, she laid her 
hand over his, looking long and steadily into his eyes. 

“There are so many things I want to know,” she said. 

The Harvester’s firm fingers closed over hers. “Ruth, have you 
ever been sorry that you trusted me?” 

“Never!” said the Girl instantly. 

“Then suppose you keep it up,” said he. “Whatever it is that 
you want to know, don’t use an iota of strength to talk or to think 
about it now. Just say to yourself, he loves me well enough to do 
what is right, and I know that he will. All you have to do is to be 
patient until you grow stronger than you ever have been in your 
life; then you shall have exactly what you want, Ruth. Sleep like 
a baby for a week or two. Then, slowly and gradually, we will 
build up such a constitution for you that you shall ride, drive, 
row, swim, dance, play, and have all that your girlhood has 
missed in fun and frolic, and all that your womanhood craves in 
love and companionship. Happiness has come at last, Ruth. ‘Take 
it from me. Everything you crave is yours. The love you want, the 
home, and the life. As soon as you are strong enough, you shall 


278 THE HARVESTER 


know all about it. Your business is to drink stimulants and sleep 
now, dear.” 

“So tired of this bed!” 

“It won’t be long until you can lie on the couch or the veranda 
swing again.” 

“Glory!” said the Girl. “David, I must have been sick for a 
long time. I can’t remember everything.” 

“Don’t try, I tell you. Life is coming out right for you; that’s 
all you need know now.” 

“And for you, David?” 

“Whenever things are right for you, they are for me.” 

‘Don’t you ever think of yourself?” 

“Not when I am with you.” 

‘Ah! Then I shall have to grow strong very soon and think of 
you.” 

‘The Harvester’s smile was pathetic. 

‘“‘Never mind me!” he said. “Only get well.” 

“David, was there a little horse?” 

‘There certainly was and is,” said the Harvester. “You had not 
named him yet, but in a few days I can lead him to the window.” 

“Was there something said about a boat?” 

“Two of them.” 

“Two?” 

“Yes. A row boat for you, and a launch that will take you all 
over the lake with only the exertion of steering on your part.” 

“David, I want my pendant and ring. I am so tired of lying 
here, I want to play with them.” 

“Where do you keep them, Ruth?” 

“In the willow teapot. I thought no one would look there.”’ 

The Harvester laughed as he brought the little boxes. He had 
to open them, but the Girl put on the ring and asked him if he 
would not help her with the pendant. He slipped the thread 
around her neck, clasping it. With a sigh of satisfaction she took 
the ornament in one hand and closed her eyes. 

“You won’t allow them to take it from me?” 

“Indeed no! There is no reason why you should not have that 
thread around your neck if you want it.” 





THE BETTER MAN 279 


“T am going to sleep now. I want two things. May I have 
them?” 

“You may,” said the Harvester promptly, “provided they are 
not to eat.” 

“No,” said the Girl. “I’ve suffered and made others trouble. 
I won’t bother you by asking for anything more than is brought 
me. This is different. You are completely worn out. Your face 
frightens me, David, while white hairs that were not there a few 
days ago have come along your temples. I can see them.” 

“You gave me a mighty serious scare, Ruth.” 

“T know,” said the Girl. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to. I want 
you to leave me to Doctor Harmon or the nurse while you sleep a 
week. Then I will be ready for the swing, and to hear more about 
the trees and birds.” 

“T can keep it up if you really need me, but if you don’t I am 
sleepy. So, if you feel safe, I think I will go.” 

“Oh I am safe enough,” said the Girl. “It isn’t that. I’m so 
lonely. I’ve made up my mind not to grieve for mother, but I 
miss her so now. I feel so friendless.” 

“But honey,” said the Harvester, “‘you mustn’t do that! Don’t 
you see how all of us love you? Here is Granny shutting up her 
house and living here, just to be with you. The nurse will do any- 
thing you say. Here is the man you know best, and think so much 
of, staying in the cabin; happy to give you all his time. The 
Careys come every day, and will do their best to comfort you, 
while always I am here for you to fall back on.” 

“Yes, I’m falling right now,” said the Girl. “I almost wish I 
had the fever again. No one has touched me for days. I feel as if 
every one were afraid of me.” 

The Harvester was puzzled. “Well, Ruth, ’m doing the best I 
know,” he said. “What is it you want?” 

“Nothing!” answered the Girl with slightly dejected inflection. 
“Say good-bye to me, then go sleep your week. I’ll be very good. 
You shall take me for a drive up the hill when you awaken. Won’t 
that be fine?” 

“Say good-bye to me!” She felt a “little lonely!” ‘They all acted 
as if they were “afraid” of her. The Harvester indulged in a flash- 


280 THE HARVESTER 


ing mental review, arriving at a decision. He knelt beside the bed, 
took both slender, cool hands, covering them with kisses. Then he 
slid a hand under the pillow and raised the tired head. 

“If I am to say good-bye, I must do it in my own way, Ruth,” 
he said. ‘Thereupon he began at the tumbled mass of hair and 
kissed from her forehead to her lips, kisses warm and tender. 
“Now you go to sleep, and grow strong enough by the time I 
come back to tell me whom you love best,” he said, then went 
from the room without waiting for a reply. 

With short intervals for food or dips in the lake the Harvester 
very nearly slept the week. When he finally felt himself again, he 
bathed, shaved, dressed freshly, and went to see the Girl. He had 
to touch her to be sure she was real. She was extremely weak and 
tremulous, but her face and hands were fuller, her colour was 
good, she was ravenously hungry. Doctor Harmon said she was a 
little tyrant; the nurse that she was plain cross. The first thing the 
Harvester noticed was that the dull blue look in the depth of the 
dark eyes was gone. 

“Well I never would have believed it!” he cried. “Doctor 
Harmon, you are a great physician! You have made her all over 
new; in a few more days she will be on the veranda. This is 
great!” 

“Do I appear so much better to you, Harvester?” asked the 
Girl. 

“Has no one thought to show you?” cried the Harvester. 
Piteree erie!” 

He stepped to her dressing table, picked up a mirror, holding it 
before her so that she could see herself. 

“Seems to me I am dreadfully white and thin yet!” 

“If you had seen what I saw ten days ago, my Girl, you would 
think you appear like a pink, rosy angel now, or a wonderful 
dream.” 

“Truly, do I in the least resemble a dream, David?”’ 

“You are a dream. The loveliest one a man ever had. With 
three months of right care and exercise you'll be the beautiful 
woman nature intended. I’m so proud of you. You are being so 
brave! Only lie there in patience a few more days, then out you 
come again to life; life that will thrill your being with joy.” 


THE BETTER MAN 281 


“All right,” said the Girl, “I will. David are you attending to 
your herbs?” 

“Not for a few weeks.” 

‘You are very much behind?” 

“No. Nothing important. I don’t make enough to count on 
what is ready now. I can soon gather jimson leaves and seed to 
fill orders, the hemlock is about right to take the fruit, the mus- 
tard is yet in pod, while the senna and wormseed can be attended 
later. I can catch up in two days.” 

‘What about—about the big bed on the hill?” 

The Harvester experienced an inward thrill of delight. She was 
so impressed with the value of the ginseng she would not mention 
it, even before the man she loved—no more than that—“‘adored”’ 
—“‘worshipped!” He smiled at her in understanding. 

“T'll have to take a peep at that and report,” he said. 

“Are you rested now?” 

“Indeed yes!” 

“You are dreadfully thin.” 

“I always am. I’ll pick up when I go back to work.” 

“David, I want you to go to work now.” 

“Can you spare me?” 

““Haven’t we done well these past few days?” 

“IT can’t tell you how well.” 

“Then please go gather everything you need to fill orders ex- 
cept the big bed; by that time maybe you could take another 
week off, then I could go to the hill top and on the lake. I’m so 
anxious to put my feet on the earth. They feel so dead.” 

“Are your feet rubbed to help the circulation?” 

“They are rubbed shiny and almost skinned, David. No one 
ever had better care, of that I am sure. Go gather what you 
should have.” 

“All right,” said the Harvester. As he started to leave the room 
he took one last look at the Girl to see if he could detect anything 
he could suggest for her comfort. He read a message in her eyes. 
Instantly there was an answering flash in his. “I’ll be back in a 
minute,” he said. “I just noticed discorea villosa has the finest 
rattle boxes formed. I’ve been waiting to show you. And the hop 


282 THE HARVESTER 


tree has its castanets all green and gold. In a few more weeks it 
will begin to play for you. I'll bring you some.” 

Soon he returned with the queer seed formations. As he bent 
above her, with his back to Doctor Harmon, he whispered: 
“What is it?” 

Her lips barely formed the one word: “Hurry!” 

The Harvester straightened. ‘‘All comfortable, Ruth?” 

SV eg? 

“You understand, of course, that there is not the slightest ne- 
cessity for my going to work if you really want me for anything, 
even if it’s nothing more than to have me within calling distance, 
in case you should want something. The whole lot I can gather 
now won't amount to twenty dollars. It’s merely a matter of pride 
with me to have what is called for. I’d much rather remain, if 
you can use me in any way at all.” 

“Twenty dollars is considerable, when expenses are as heavy as 
now, while it’s worth more than any money to you not to fail 
when orders come. I have learned that, so David, I don’t want 
you to either. You must fill all demands as usual. I wouldn’t for- 
give myself this winter if you should be forced to send orders only 
partly filled because I fell ill and hindered you. Please go and 
gather all you possibly will need of everything you take at this 
season, only—remember!”’ 

‘There is no danger of my forgetting. If you are going to send 
me away to work, you will allow me to kiss your hand before I 
go, fair lady?” He did it fervently. 

“One word with you, Harmon,” he said as he started. 

Doctor Harmon followed him to the gold garden. 

‘I merely want to mention that this is your inning,” said the 
Harvester. “Find out if you are essential to the Girl’s happiness as 
soon as you can. The day she tells me so, I will file her petition 
and take a trip to the city to study some little chemical quirks that 
bother me. That’s all.” The Harvester went to the dry-house for 
bags and clipping shears, while the doctor returned to the sun- 
shine room. 

“Ruth,” he said, “do you know that the Harvester is the squar- 
est man I ever met?” 


THE BETTER MAN 283 


“Is he?” asked the Girl. 

“He is! He certainly is!” 

“You must remember that I have little acquaintance with 
men,” said she. “You are the first one I ever knew; the only one 
except him.” 

“Well I try to be square,” said Doctor Harmon, “but that is 
where Langston has me beaten a mile. I have to try. He doesn’t. 
He was born that way.” 

“His environment is so different,” she said. ““Perhaps if he were 
in a big city, he would have to try also.” 

‘“Won’t do!” said the doctor. “He chose his location. So did 
I. He is a stronger physical man than I ever was or ever will be. 
The struggle that bound him to the woods and to research, that 
made him the master of forces that give back life, when a man 
like Carey says it is the end, proves him a master. The tumult in 
his soul must have been like a cyclone in his forest, when he 
turned his back on the world and stuck to the woods. Carey told 
me about it. Some day you must hear. It’s a story a woman ought 
to know in order to arrive at proper values. You never will under- 
stand the man until you know that he is clean where most of us 
are blackened with ugly sins we have no right on God’s footstool 
to commit with not so much reason as he. Every man should be 
as he is, but very few are. Carey says Langston’s mother was a 
wonderful element in the formation of his character; but all 
mothers are anxious, yet none of them can build with no founda- 
tion and no soul timber. She had material for a man, or she 
couldn’t have made one.” 

“T see what you mean.” 

“So far as any inexperienced girl ever sees,” said the doctor. 
“Some day if you live to fifty you will know, but you can’t com- 
prehend it now.” 

“Tf you think I lived all my life in Chicago’s poverty spots 
and don’t know unbridled human nature!” 

“J found you and your mother unusually innocent women. 
You may understand some things. I hope you do. It will help you 
to decide who is the real man among the men who come into your 
life. There are some men, Ruth, who are fit to mate with a 


284. THE HARVESTER 


woman, to perpetuate themselves and their mental and moral 
forces in children who will be like them; there are others who 
are not. It is these ‘others’ who are responsible for the sin of the 
world, the sickness and suffering. Any time you are sure you have 
a chance at a moral man, square and honest, in control of his 
brain and body, if you are a wise woman, Ruth, stick to him as 
the limpet to the rock.” 

“You mean stick to the Harvester?” 

“If you are a wise woman!” 

“When was a woman ever wise?” 

‘A few have been. They are the only care-free, really happy 
ones of the world, the only wives without a big, poison, blue- 
bottle fly in their ointment.” 

“T detest flies!’ said the Girl. 

“So do I,” said the doctor. ‘‘For this reason I say to you choose 
the ointment that never had one in it. Take the man who is 
‘master of his fate, captain of his soul.’ Stick to the Harvester! 
He is infinitely the better man!” 

“Well have you seen anything to indicate that I wasn’t stick- 
ing?” asked the Girl. 

‘No. And for your sake I hope I never shall.” 

She laughed softly. 

“You do love him, Ruth?” 

“As I did my mother, yes. There is not a trace in my heart of 
the thing he calls love.” 

“You have been stunted, warped, and the fountains of life 
never have opened. It will come with right conditions of living.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“I know so. At least there is no one else you love, Ruth?” 

*““No one except you.” 

“And do you feel about me just as you do him?” 

“No! It is different. What I owe him is for myself. What I 
owe you is for my mother. You saw! You know! You understand 
what you did for her, and what it meant to me. The Harvester 
must be the finest man on earth, but when I try to think of either 
God or Heaven, your face intervenes.” 

“That’s all right, Ruth, ’'m so glad you told me,” said Doctor 


THE BETTER MAN 285 


Harmon. “I can make it all perfectly clear to you. You just go 
on and worship me all you please. It’s bound to make a cleaner, 
better man of me. What you feel for me will hold me to a higher 
moral level all my life than I ever have known before; but never 
forget that you are not going to live in Heaven. You will be here 
at least sixty years yet, so when you come to think of selecting a 
partner for the relations of the world, you stick to the finest man 
you know; see?” 

“TI do!” said the Girl. “I saw you kiss Molly a week ago. She is 
lovely, so I hope you will be perfectly happy. It won’t interfere 
with my worshipping you; not the least in the world. Go ahead 
and be joyful!” 

The doctor sprang to his feet in crimson confusion. The Girl 
lay laughing at him. 

“Don’t!” she cried. “It’s all right! It takes a weight off my soul 
as heavy as a mountain. I do adore you, as I said. But every hour 
since I left Chicago a big, black cloud has hung over me. I didn’t 
feel free. I didn’t feel absolved. I felt that my obligations to you 
were so heavy that when I had settled the last of the money debt 
I was in honour bound cS 

“Don’t, Ruth! Forget those dreadful times, as I told you then! 
Think only of a happy future!” 

“Tet me finish,” said the Girl. “Let me get this out of my system 
with the other poison. From the day I came here, I’ve whispered 
in my heart: ‘I am not free!’ But if you love another woman! If 
you are going to take her to your heart and to your lips, why that 
is my release. Oh Man, speak the words! Tell me I am free 
indeed !”” 

“Ruth, be quiet, for mercy sake! You'll raise a temperature, 
and the Harvester will pitch me into the lake. You are free, child, 
of course! You always have been. I understood the awful pres- 
sure that was on you with the very first glimpse I had of your 
mother. Who was she, Ruth?” 

“She never would tell me.” 

“She thought you would appeal to her people?” 

“She knew I would! I couldn’t have helped it.” 

“Would you like to know?” 





286 THE HARVESTER 


“TI never want to. It is too late. I infinitely prefer to remain in 
ignorance. Talk of something else.” 

“Let me read a wonderful book I found on the Harvester’s 
shelves.” 

“Anything there will contain wonders, because he only buys 
what appeals to him, and it takes a great book to do that. I am 
going to learn. He will teach me, and when I come within com- 
prehending distance of him, then we are going on together.” 

“What an attractive place this is!” 

“Isn’t it? I have seen only enough to understand the plan. I 
scarcely can wait to set my feet on earth and go into detail. 
Granny Moreland says that when spring comes over the hill, and 
brings up the flowers in the big woods, she’d rather walk through 
them than to read Revelation. She says it gives her an idea of 
Heaven she can come closer realizing and it seems more stable. 
You know she worries about the foundations. She can’t under- 
stand what supports Heaven. But up there in Medicine Woods 
the old dear gets so near her God that some day she is going to 
realize that her idea of Heaven there is quite as near right as mar- 
ble streets and gold pillars and vastly more probable. The day 
I reach that hill top again, Heaven begins for me. Do you know 
the wonderful thing the Harvester did up there?” 

“Under the oak?” 

Tesi 

“Carey told me. It was marvellous.” 

“Not such a marvel as another the doctor couldn’t have known. 
The Harvester made passing out so natural, so easy, so a part of 
elemental forces, that I almost have forgotten her tortured body. 
When I think of her now, it is to wonder if next summer I can 
distinguish her whisper among the leaves. Before you go, Ill take 
you up there and tell you what he says, and show you what he 
means, so you will feel it also.” 

‘What if I shouldn’t go>?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Doctor Carey has offered me a splendid position in his hos- 
pital. There would be work all day, instead of waiting all day in 


THE BETTER MAN 287 


the hope of working an hour. There would be a living in it for two 
from the word go. There would be better air, longer life, more to 
be got out of it, and if I can make good, Carey’s work to take up 
as he grows old.” 

“Take it! Take it quickly!” cried the Girl. “Don’t wait a 
minute! You might wear out your heart in Chicago for twenty 
years or forever, and not have an opportunity to do one-half so 
much good. Take it at once!” 

“TI am waiting to learn what you and Langston think.” 

“He will say take it.” 

“Then I shall be too happy for words. Ruth, you have not only 
paid the debt, but you have brought me the greatest joy a man 
ever had. And there is no need to wait the years I thought | 
must. He can tell in a year if I can do the work; I know I can 
now; so it’s all settled, if Langston agrees.” 

“He will,” said the Girl. “Let me tell him!” 

“I wish you would,” said the doctor. “I don’t know just how to 
go at it.” 

Then for two days the Harvester and Belshazzar gathered 
herbs and spread them on the drying trays. On the afternoon of 
the third, close three, the doctor came to the door. “‘Langston,’ 
he said, ‘“‘we have a call for you. We can’t keep Ruth quiet much 
longer. She is tired. We want to change her bed completely. She 
won’t allow either of us to lift her. She says we hurt her. Will you 
come and try it?” 

“You'll have to give me time to dip and get into clean cloth- 
ing,” he said. “I’ve been keeping away, because I was working on 
time, so I smell to strangulation of stramonium and senna.” 

“Can’t give you ten seconds,” said the doctor. “Her temper 
is getting brittle. She is cross as the proverbial fever patient. If 
you don’t come at once she will imagine you don’t want to, and 
refuse to be moved at all.” 

“Coming!” cried the Harvester, as he plunged his hands in the 
wash bowl and soused his face. A second later he appeared on the 
porch. “Ruth,” he said, “I am steeped in the odours of the dry- 
house. Can’t you wait until I bathe and dress?” 


288 THE HARVESTER 

‘No, I can’t,” said a fretful voice. “I can’t endure this bed 
another minute.” 

“Then let Doctor Harmon lift you. He is so fresh and clean.” 
The Harvester glanced enviously at the shaven face and white 
trousers and shirt of the doctor. 

“I just hate fresh, clean men. I want to smell herbs, and put 
my feet in the dirt and my hands in the water.” 

The Harvester came at a rush. He brought a big easy chair 
from the living-room, straightened the cover, and bent above 
the Girl. He picked her up lightly, gently, and easing her to his 
body settled in the chair. She laid her face on his shoulder, and 
heaved a deep sigh of content. 

“Be careful with my back, Man,” she said. “I think my spine 
is almost worn through.” 

‘Poor girl,” said the Harvester. “That bed should be softer.” 

“It should not!” contradicted the Girl. “It should be much 
harder. I’m tired of soft beds. I want to lie on the earth, with my 
head on a root; and I wish it would rain dirt on me. I am bathed 
threadbare. I want to be all streaky.” 

“I understand,” said the Harvester. “Harmon, bring me a 
pad and pencil a minute, I must write an order for some things 
I want. Will you call up town and have them sent out immedi- 
ately?” 

On the pad he wrote: “Telephone Carey to get the highest 
grade curled-hair mattress, a new pad, and pillow, and bring 
them flying in the car. Call Granny and the girl and empty the 
room. Clean, air, and fumigate it thoroughly. Arrange the furni- 
ture differently, and help me into the living-room with Ruth.” 
He handed the pad to the doctor. 

“Please attend to that,” he said, and to the Girl: “Now we go 
on a journey. Doc, you and Molly take the corners of the rug we 
are on and slide us into the other room until you get this aired 
and freshened.” 

In the living-room the Girl took one long look at the surround- 
ings, then suddenly relaxed. She cuddled against the Harvester 
and lifting a tremulous white hand, drew it across his unshaven 
-Cheek. 


THE BETTER MAN 289 


“Feels so good,” she said. ‘I’m sick and tired of immaculate 
men.” 

The Harvester laughed, tucking her feet in the cover. The 
Girl lay with her cheek against the rough khaki, palpitant with 
the excitement of being moved. 

“Isn’t it great?” she panted. 

He caught the hand that had touched his cheek in a tender 
grip, and laughed a deep rumble of exultation. 

‘“There’s no name for it, honey,” he said. “But don’t try to talk 
until you have a long rest. Changing positions after you have lain 
so long may be making unusual work for your heart. Am I hurt- 
ing your back?” 

“No,” said the Girl. ‘““This is the first time I have been com- 
fortable in ages. Am I tiring you?” 

“Yes,” laughed the Harvester. ‘““You are almost as heavy as a 
large sack of leaves, but not quite equal to a bridge pillar or a 
log. Be sure to think of that, and worry considerably. You are in 
danger of straining my muscles to the last degree, my heart in- 
cluded.” 

“Where is your heart?” whispered the Girl. 

“Right under your cheek,” answered the Harvester. “But for 
Heaven’s sake, don’t intimate that you are taking any interest in 
it, or it will go to pounding until your head will bounce. It’s one 
member of my body that I can’t control where you are con- 
cerned.” 

“I thought you didn’t like me any more.” 

“Careful!” warned the Harvester. “You are yet too close 
Heaven to fib like that, Ruth. What have I done to indicate that 
I don’t love you more than ever?” 

“Stayed away nearly every minute for three awful days, and 
wouldn’t come without being dragged; and now you're wishing 
they would hurry and fix that bed, so you can put me down and 
go back to your rank old herbs again.” 

“Well of all the black prevarications! I went when you sent 
me, and came when you called. Id willingly give up my hope of 
what Granny calls ‘salvation’ to hold you as I am for an hour, 
and you know it.” 


290 THE HARVESTER 


“It’s going to be much longer than that,” said the Girl, nestling 
to him. “I asked for you because you never hurt me, arid they 
always do. I knew you were so strong that my weight now 
wouldn’t be a load for one of your hands, and I am not going 
back to that bed until I am so tired that I will be glad to lie 
down.” 

For a long time she was so silent the Harvester thought her 
going to sleep; and having learned that for him joy was probably 
transient, he deliberately got all he could. He closely held the 
hand she had not withdrawn, often lifting it to his lips. Sometimes 
he stroked the heavy braid, gently ran his hands across the tired 
shoulders, or eased her into a different position. 

“There is something I want to ask you,” she said. “I promised 
Doctor Harmon I would.” 

Instantly the heart of the Harvester gave a pit that jarred 
the head resting on it. 

“You don’t like him?’ questioned the Girl. 

“I do!’ declared the Harvester. “I like him immensely. There 
is not a fine, manly good-looking feature about him that I have 
missed. I don’t fail to do him justice on every point.” 

“I’m so glad! Then you will want him to remain.” 

‘Here?’ asked the Harvester with a light, hot breath. 

‘In Onabasha! Doctor Carey has offered him the place of chief 
assistant at the hospital. There is a good salary and the chance of 
taking up the doctor’s work as he grows older. It means plenty 
to do at once, healthful atmosphere, congenial society—every- 
thing to a young man. He only had a call once in a while in 
Chicago, often among people who received more than they paid, 
like me, and he was very lonely. I think it would be great for 
him.” 

“And for you, Ruth?” 

“It doesn’t make the least difference to me; but for his sake, 
because I think so much of him, I would like to see him have the 
place.” 

“You still think so much of him, Ruth?” 

“More, if possible,” said the Girl. “Added to all I owed him 
before, he has come here and worked for days to save me. Nothing 


THE BETTER MAN 291 


alters the fact that he did all he could, most graciously and gladly. 
It wasn’t his fault that it took a bigger man.” 

“What do you mean, Ruth?” 

“Oh they have worn themselves out!” cried the Girl impa- 
tiently. “First, Granny Moreland told me every least little detail 
of how I went out, and you resurrected me. I knew what she said 
was true, because she worked with you. Then Doctor Carey told 
me, then Mrs. Carey, and Doctor Harmon, and Molly; even 
Granny’s little assistant has left the kitchen to tell me that I owe 
my life to you. All of them might as well have saved breath. I knew 
all the time that if ever I came out of this, or had a chance to be 
like other women, it would be your work, and I’m glad it is. I'd 
hate to be under obligations to some people I know; but I feel 
honoured to be indebted to you.” 

“Tm mighty sorry they worried you. I had no idea 

“They didn’t ‘worry’ me! I am merely telling you that I knew 
it all the time; that’s all!” 

“Forget that!” said the Harvester. “Come back to our subject. 
What was it you wanted, dear?” 

“To know if you had any objections to Doctor Harmon re- 
maining in Onabasha?” 

“Certainly not! It will be a fine thing for him.” 

“Will it make any difference to you in any way?” 

“Ruth, that’s probing too deep,” said the Harvester. 

“T don’t see why!” 

“Tm glad of it!” 

“Why?” 

“Td least rather show my littleness to you than to any one else 
on earth.” 

“Then you have some feeling about it?” 

“Perhaps a trifle. P'll get over it. Give me time to adjust myself. 
Doctor Harmon shall have the place, of course. Don’t worry 
about that!” 

“He will be so happy!” 

“And you, Ruth?” 

“Tll be happy too!” 

“Then it’s all right,” said the Harvester. 


39 





292 THE HARVESTER 


He laid down her hand, drew the cover over it, and slightly 
shifted her position to rest her. The door opened, and Doctor 
Harmon announced that the room was ready. It was shining and 
fresh. The bed was now turned with its head to the north, so that 
from it one could see the big trees in Medicine Woods, the sweep 
of the hillside, the sparkle of mallow-bordered Singing Water, 
the driveway and the gold flower garden. Everything was so 
changed that the room had quite a different appearance. ‘The 
instant he laid her on it the Girl said: “This bed is not mine.” 

“Yes it is,” said the Harvester. “You see, we were a little ex- 
cited sometimes, for we spilled a few quarts of perfectly good 
medicine on your mattress. It was hopelessly smelly and ruined; 
so I am going to cremate it; this is your splinter new one and 
a fresh pad and pillow. Now you try them and see if they are not 
much harder and more comfortable.” 

“This is just perfect!” she sighed, as she sank into the bed. 

The Harvester bent over her to straighten the cover, when 
suddenly she reached both arms around his neck, and gripped 
him with all her strength. 

“Thank you!”’ she said. 

“May I hold you to-morrow?” whispered the Harvester, em- 
boldened by this. 

‘Please do,” said the Girl. 

The Harvester, with dog to heel, went to the oak to think. 
‘Belshazzar, kommen Sie!”’ said the man, dropping on the seat 
and holding out his hand. The dog laid his muzzle in the firm 
grip. 

“Bel,” said the Harvester, “I am all at sea. One day I think 
maybe I have a chance, the next—none at all. I had an hour of 
solid comfort to-day, now I’m in the sweat box again. It’s a little 
selfish streak in me, Bel, that hates to see Harmon go into the 
hospital and take my place with the Careys. ‘They are my best and 
only friends. He is young, social, handsome, and will be ever 
present. In three months he will become so popular that I might 
as well be off the earth. I wish I didn’t think it, but I’m so small 
that I do. Then there is my Dream Girl, Bel. The girl you found 
for me, old fellow. There never was another like her. She has my 


THE BETTER MAN 293 


heart for all time. And he has hers. That hospital plan is the best 
thing in the world for her. It will keep her where Carey can have 
an eye on her, where the air is better, where she can have com- 
pany without the city crush, where she is close the country, with 
a good living assured. Bel, it’s the nicest arrangement you ever 
saw for every one we know, except us.” 

The Harvester laughed shortly. “Bel,” he said, “tell me! If a 
man lived a hundred years, could he have the heartache all the 
way? Seems like I’ve had it almost that long now. In fact, I’ve 
had it such ages I’d be lonesome without it. This is some more of 
my very own medicine, so I shouldn’t make a wry face over taking 
it. I knew what would happen when I sent for him, yet I didn’t 
hesitate. I must not now. 

“Only I got to stop one thing, Bel. I told him I would play 
square, and I have. But here it ends. After this, I must step back 
and be big brother. Lots of fun in this brother business, Bel. But 
maybe I am cut out for it. Anyway it’s written! But if it is, how 
did she come to allow me such privileges as I took to-day? That 
wasn’t professional by any means. It was the stiffest love-making 
I knew how to do, Bel, and she didn’t object by the quiver of an 
eyelash. God knows I was watching closely enough for any sign 
that I was distasteful. And I might have been well enough. 
Rough, herb-stained old clothes, unshaven, everything to offend 
a dainty girl. She said I might hold her again to-morrow. And, 
Bel, what the nation did she hug me like that for, if she’s going to 
marry him? Boy, I see my way clear to an hour more. While I’m at 
it, just to surprise myself, I believe I’ll take it like other men. I 
think I’ll go on a little bender, and make what probably will be 
the last day a plumb good one. Something worth remembering 
is better than nothing at all, Bel! He hasn’t told me that he has 
won. She didn’t say she was going to marry him, and she did say 
he hurt her, so she wanted me. Bel, how about the grimness of it, 
if she should marry him and then discover that he hurts her, and 
she still wants me. Lord God Almighty, if you have any mercy 
at all, never put me up against that,” prayed the Harvester, “for 
my heart is water where she is concerned.” 

The Harvester arose, and going to the lake, he cut an armload 


294 THE HARVESTER 


of big, pink mallows, covered each mound with fresh flowers, 
whistled to the dog, and went to his work. Many things had ac- 
cumulated, so he cleaned the barn, carried herbs from the dry- 
house to the storeroom, and put everything into shape. Close 
noon the next day he went to Onabasha, and was gone three 
hours. He came back barbered in the latest style, and carrying a 
big bundle. When the hour for arranging the bed came, he was 
yet in his room, but he sent word he would be there in a second. 

As he crossed the living-room he pulled a chair to the veranda, 
placing a footstool before it. Then he stepped into the sunshine 
room. A quizzical expression crossed the face of Doctor Harmon 
as he closed the book he was reading aloud to the Girl and arose. 
Wholly unembarrassed the Harvester smiled. 

“Have I got this rigging anywhere near right?” he inquired. 

“David, what have you done?” gasped the Girl. 

“I didn’t feel anywhere near up to the ‘mark of my high calling’ 
yesterday,’ quoted the Harvester. “I don’t know how I appear, 
but I’m clean as shaving, soap and hot water will make me, while 
my clothing will not smell offensively. Now come out of that bed 
for a happy hour. Where is that big coverlet? You are going on 
the veranda to-day.” 

“You look just like every one else,” complained Doctor Har- 
mon. 

“You look perfectly lovely,” declared the Girl. 

‘The swale sends you this invitation to come and see star-shine 
at the foot of mullein hill,” said the Harvester, offering a bouquet. 
It was a loose bunch of long-stemmed, delicate flowers, each an 
inch across, and having five pearl-white petals lightly striped 
with pale green. Five long gold anthers arose; at their base gold 
stamens and a green pistil. The leaves were heart-shaped, of 
frosty, whitish-green, resembling felt. The Harvester bent to offer 
them. 

“Have some Grass of Parnassus, my dear,” he said. 

The Girl waved them away. “Go stand over there by the door 
and slowly turn around. I want to see you.” 

The Harvester obeyed. He was freshly and carefully shaven. 
His hair was closely cropped at the base of the head, long, heavy, 


THE BETTER MAN 295 


and slightly waving on top. He wore a white silk shirt, with a 
rolling collar and tie, white trousers, belt, hose, and shoes, while 
his hands were manicured with care. 

“Have I made a mess of it, or do I appear anything like other 
men?” he asked, eagerly. 

The Girl lifted her eyes to Doctor Harmon and smiled. 

“Do you observe anything messy?” she inquired. 

“You needn’t fish for compliments quite so obviously,” he 
answered. “ll pay them without being asked. I do not. He is 
quite correct, and infinitely better looking than the average. 
Distinguished is a proper word for the gentleman in my opinion. 
But why, in Heaven’s name, have we never had the pleasure of 
seeing you thus before?” 

“Look here, Doc,” said the Harvester, “do you mean that you 
like looking at me merely because I am dressed this way?” 

“I do indeed,” said the doctor. “It is good to see you with the 
garb of work laid aside, and the stamp of cleanliness and ease 
upon you.” 

“By gum, that is rubbing it in a little too rough!” cried the 
Harvester. “I bathe oftener than you do. My clothing is always 
clean when I start out. Of course, in my work I come hourly in 
contact with muck, water, and herb juices.” 

“Tt’s understood that is unavoidable,’ said Doctor Harmon. 

“And if cleanliness is made an issue, I’d rather roll in any of 
it than put my finger tips into the daily work of a surgeon,” added 
the Harvester, while the Girl giggled. 

“That’s enough, Medicine Man!”’ she said. “You did not make 
a ‘mess’ of it, or anything else you ever attempted. As for appear- 
ing like other men, thank Heaven, you do not. You look a whole 
world bigger, better and finer. Come, carry me out quickly. I am 
wild to go. Please put my lovely flowers in water, Molly, only 
give me a few to hold.” 

The Harvester arranged the pink coverlet, picked up the Girl, 
and carried her to the living-room. ‘‘We will rest here a little,” 
he said, ‘“‘and then, if you feel equal to it, we will try the veranda. 
Are you easy now?” 

She nestled her face against the soft shirt and smiled at him. 


296 THE HARVESTER 


She lifted her hand, laid it on his smooth cheek and then the crisp 
hair. 

“Oh Man!” she cried. “Thank God you didn’t give me up, 
too! I want life! I want life!” 

The Harvester tightened his grip just a trifle. “Then I thank 
God, too,” he said. “‘Can you tell me how you are, dear? Is there 
any difference?” 

“Yes,” she answered. “I grow tired lying so long, but there 
isn’t the ghost of an ache in my bones. I can just feel pure, deli- 
cious blood running in my veins. My hands and feet are always 
warm, and my head cool.” 

The Harvester’s face drew very close. “How about your heart, 
honey?” he whispered. “Anything new there?” 

“Yes, I am all over new inside and out. I want to shout, run, 
sing, and swim. Oh Id give anything to have you dip me in the 
lake right now.” 

“Soon, Girl! ‘That will come soon,” prophesied the Harvester. 

“I scarcely can wait. And you did say a saddle, didn’t you? 
Won’t it be great to come galloping up the levee, when the leaves 
are red and the frost is in the air. Oh am I going fast enough?” 

“Much faster than I expected,” said the Harvester. “You are 
surprising all of us, me most of any. Ruth, you almost make me 
hope that you regard this as home. Honey, you are thinking of 
me a little these days?” 

The hand that had fallen from his hair lay on his shoulder. 
Now it slid around his neck, gripping him with all its strength. 

“Heaps and heaps!” she said. “All I get a chance to, for being 
bothered and fussed over, and everlastingly read mushy stuff 
that’s intended for some one else. Please take me to the veranda 
now; I want to tell you something.” 

His head swam, but the Harvester set his feet firmly, arose, 
and carried his Dream Girl back to outdoor life. When he reached 
the chair, she begged him to go a few steps farther to the bench 
on the lake shore. 

“T am afraid,’ said the man. 

“Tt’s so warm. There can’t be any difference in the air. Just 
a minute.” 


THE BETTER MAN 207 


The Harvester went to the bench, and seating himself, drew 
the cover closely around her. 

“Don’t speak a word for a long time,” he said. “Just rest. If 
I tire you too much and spoil everything, I will be desperate.” 

He clasped her to him, laid his cheek against her hair, his lips 
on her forehead. He held her hand, kissing it over and over, 
while again he watched but could find no resentment. The cool, 
pungent breeze swept from the lake, and the voices of wild life 
chattered at their feet. Sometimes the water folks splashed, while 
a big black and gold butterfly mistook the Girl’s dark hair for a 
perching place and settled on it, slowly opening its wonderful 
wings. 

“Lie quietly, Girl,” whispered the Harvester. “You are wear- 
ing a living jewel, an ornament above price on your hair. Maybe 
you can see it when it goes. There!” 

“Oh I did!” she cried. “How I love it here! Before long may 
I lie in the dining-room window a while so I can see the water? 
I like the hill, but I love the lake more.” 

“Now if you just would love me,” said the Harvester, “‘you 
would have all Medicine Woods in your heart.” 

“Don’t hurry me so!” said the Girl. “You gave me a year; and 
it’s only a few weeks. I’ve not been myself, and I’m not now. I 
mustn’t make any mistake. All I know for sure is that I want you 
most, that I can rest best with you, and I miss you every minute 
you are gone. I think that should satisfy you.” 

“That would be enough for any reasonable man,” said the 
Harvester angrily. ‘Forgive me, Ruth, I have been cruel. I for- 
get how frail and weak you are. It is having Harmon here that 
makes me unnatural. It almost drives me to frenzy to know that 
he may take you from me.” 

“Then send him away!” 

“Send him away?” 

“Yes, send him away! I am tired to death of his poetry, and 
seeing him moon around. Send both of them away quickly!” 

The Harvester gulped, blinked, and surreptitiously felt for 
her pulse. 

“Oh, I’ve not developed fever again,” she said. ‘I’m all right. 


298 THE HARVESTER 


But it must be a fearful expense to have both of them here by the 
week, and I’m so tired of them. Granny says she can take care 
of me just as well, and the girl who helps her can cook. No one 
but you shall lift me, if I don’t get my nose out until I can walk 
alone. Both of them are perfectly useless; ?’'d much rather you’d 
send them away.” 

“There, there! Of course!” iid the Harvester soothingly. “PIl 
do it as soon as I possibly dare. You don’t understand, honey. 
You are yet delicate beyond measure, internally. The ie burned 
so long. Every morsel you eat is measured and cooked in sterilized 
vessels, so I’d be scared of my life to have the girl undertake it.” 

“Why she is doing it straight along now! She and Granny! 
Molly isn’t out of Doctor Harmon’s sight long enough to cook 
anything. Granny says there is ‘a lot of buncombe about what 
they do, and she is going to tell them so right to their teeth some 
of these days, if they badger her much more.’ I wish she would, 
and you, too.” 

The Harvester gathered the Girl to him in one crushing bear 
hug. 

“For the love of Heaven, Ruth, you drive me crazy! Answer 
me only one question. When you told me that you ‘adored and 
worshipped’ Doctor Harmon, did you mean it, or was that the 
delirium of fever?” 

“T don’t know what I told you! If I said I ‘adored’ him, it was 
the truth. I did! I do! I always shall! So do I adore the Almighty, 
but that’s no sign I want him to read poetry to me, or be around 
all the time when I am wild for a minute with you. I can wor- 
ship Doctor Harmon in Chicago or Onabasha quite as well. Fire 
him! If you don’t, I will!” 

“Good Lord!” cried the Harvester, helpless until the Girl had 
to cling to him to prevent rolling from his nerveless arms. “Ruth, 
Ruth, will you feel my pulse?” 

“No, I won’t! But you are going to drop me. ‘Take me back 
to my beautiful bed, then send them away.” 

“A minute! Give me a minute!” gasped the Harvester. “I 
couldn’t lift a baby just now. Ruth, dear, I thought you loved — 
the man.” | 


THE BETTER MAN 299 


‘What made you think so?” 

“You did!” 

“I didn’t either! I never said I loved him. I said I was under 
obligations to him; but they are as well repaid as they ever can 
be. I said I adored him, and I tell you I do! Give him what we 
owe him, both of us, in money, then send them away. If you’d 
seen as much of them as IJ have, you'd be tired of them, too. 
Please, please, David!” 

“Yes,” said the Harvester, arising in a sudden tide of effulgent 
joy. “Yes, Girl, as quickly as I can with decency. I—I’ll send 
them on the lake, and I'll take care of you.” 

“You won’t read poetry to me?” 

“T will not.” 

“You won’t moon at me?” 

“Nol”? 

“Then hurry! But have them take your boat. I am going to 
have the first ride in mine.’ 

“Indeed you are, and soon, too!” said the Harvester, march- 
ing up the hill as if he were leading hosts to battle. He laid the 
Girl on the bed, covering her and calling Granny Moreland to 
sit beside her a few minutes. He went into the gold garden and 
suggested that the doctor and the nurse go rowing until supper 
time. They went with alacrity. When they started he returned to 
the Girl, and sitting beside her, he told Granny to take a nap. 
Then he began to talk about wild music, and how it was made, 
what the different odours sweeping down the hill were, when the 
red leaves would come, the nuts rattle down, and the frost fairies 
enamel the windows, so soon she was sound asleep. When Granny 
came back, the Harvester walked around the lake shore to be 
alone and think quietly, for he was almost too bewildered for 
full realization. 

As he followed the footpath he heard voices, and looking down, 
he saw the boat lying in the shade while beneath a big tree on the 
bank sat the doctor and the nurse. His arm was around her, her 
head was on his shoulder; she was saying very. distinctly: “How 
long will it be until we can go without offending him?” 


CELA. PUT ER aad Xx 


A Vertical Spine 


By MIDDLE September the last trace of illness had been removed 
from the premises, while it was rapidly disappearing from the 
face and form of the Girl. She was showing a beautiful round- 
ness, there was lovely colour on her cheeks and lips. In her dark 
eyes sparkled a touch of mischief. Rigidly she followed the rules 
laid down for diet and exercise. As strength flowed through her 
body, while no trace of pain tormented her, she began revelling 
in new and delightful sensations. She loved to pull her boat, drive 
over the wood road, study the books, cook, rearrange furniture, 
and go with the Harvester everywhere. 

But that was greatly the management of the man. He was so 
afraid that something might happen to undo all the wonders 
accomplished in the Girl, and again whiten her face with pain, 
that he scarcely allowed her from his sight. He remained in the 
cabin, helping when she worked, then drove with her and a big 
blanket to the woods, arranged her chair and table, found some 
attractive subject, and while the wind ravelled her hair and 
flushed her cheeks, her fingers drew designs. At noon they went 
to the cabin to lunch, then the Girl took a nap, while the Har- 
vester spread his morning’s reaping on the shelves to dry. They 
returned to the woods until five o’clock; then home again and 
the Girl dressed and prepared supper, while the Harvester ar- 
ranged his stores and fed the stock. Then he put on white cloth- 
ing for the evening. The Girl rested while he washed the dishes, 


A VERTICAL SPINE 301 


then they explored the lake in the little motor boat, or drove to 
the city for supplies, or to see their friends. 

‘“‘Are you even with your usual work at this time of the year?” 
she asked as they sat at breakfast. 

“TI am,” said the Harvester. “The only things that have been 
crowded out are the candlesticks. They will have to remain on the 
shelf until the herbs and roots are all in, and the long winter eve- 
nings come. Then [’ll use the luna pattern and finish yours first 
of all.” 

“What are you going to do to-day?” 

“Start on a regular fall campaign. Some of it for the sake of 
having it; some because there is good money in it. Will you 
come?” 

“Indeed yes. May I help, or shall I take my drawing along?” 

“Bring your drawing. Next fall you may help, but as yet you 
are too close suffering for me to see you do anything that might 
_be even a slight risk. I can’t endure it.” 

“Baby!” she jeered. 

“Christen me anything you please,” laughed the Harvester. 
“I’m short on names anyway.” 

He went to harness Betsy, while the Girl washed the dishes, 
straightened the rooms, and collected her drawing material. Then 
she walked up the hill, wearing a shirt and short skirt of khaki, 
stout shoes, and a straw hat that shaded her face. She climbed 
into the wagon, laid the drawing box on the seat, and caught the 
lines as the Harvester flung them to her. He went swinging ahead, 
Belshazzar to heel, the Girl driving after. 

The Harvester stopped halfway up the hill, and beside a large, 
shaded bed spread the rug, then set up the little table and chair 
for the Girl. 

“Want a plant to draw?” he asked. “This is very important 
to us. It has a string of names as long as a princess, but I call 
it goldenseal, because the roots are yellow. The chemists ask for 
hydrastis. That sounds formidable, but it’s a cousin of buttercups. 
The woods of Ohio and Indiana produce the finest that ever 
grew, but it is so nearly extinct now that the trade can be sup- 
plied by cultivation only. I suspect I’m responsible for its disap- 


302 THE HARVESTER 


pearance around here. I used to get a dollar fifty a pound, so 
most of my clothes and books when a boy I owe to it. Now I get 
two for my finest grade; that accounts for the size of these beds.” 

“It’s pretty!” said the Girl, studying a plant averaging a foot 
in height. On a slender, round, purplish stem arose one big, rough 
leaf, heavily veined, and having from five to nine lobes. Opposite 
was a similar leaf, but very small, and a head of scarlet berries 
resembling a big raspberry in shape. The Harvester shook the 
soil from the yellow roots, and held up the plant. 

“You won’t enjoy the odour,” he said. 

“Well I like the leaves. I can use them some way. They are 
so unusual. What wonderful colour in the roots!” 

“One of its names is Indian paint,” explained the Harvester. 
“Probably it furnished the squaws of these woods with colouring 
matter. Now let’s see what we can get from it. You draw the 
plant while I dig the roots.” : 

For a time the Girl bent over her work and the Harvester was 
busy. Belshazzar ranged the woods chasing chipmunks. The birds 
came asking questions. When the drawing was completed, other 
subjects were found. The Girl talked almost constantly, her face 
alive with interest. The May-apple beds lay close, so she drew 
from them. She learned the uses and prices of the plant, then 
made drawings of cohosh, moonseed and bloodroot. That was 
so wonderful in its root colour, the Harvester filled the little cup 
with water and she began to paint. Intensely absorbed she bent 
above the big, notched, silvery leaves and the blood-red roots, 
testing and trying to match them exactly. Every few minutes the 
Harvester leaned over her shoulder to see how she was progress- 
ing and to offer suggestions. When she finished she picked up a 
trailing vine of moonseed. 

“You have this on the porch,” she said. “I think it is lovely. 
There is no end to the beautiful combinations of leaves, and these 
are such pretty grape-like clusters; but if you touch them the 
slightest you soil the wonderful surface.” 

“And that makes the fairies very sad,” said the Harvester, 
“They love that vine best of any, because they paint its fruit with 
the most care. ‘Bloom’ the scientists call it. You see it on culti- 


A VERTICAL SPINE 303 


vated plums, grapes, and apples, but never in any such perfec- 
tion as on moonseed and black haws in the woods. You should 
be able to design a number of pretty things from the cohosh 
leaves and berries, also. You scarcely can get a start this fall, 
but early in the spring you can begin, and follow the season. If 
your work comes out well this winter, I'll send some of it to the 
big publishing houses. You can make book and magazine covers 
and decorations, if you would like.” 

“ ‘If I would like!’ How modest! You know perfectly well that 
if I could make a design that would be accepted, and used on 
a book or magazine, I would almost fly. Oh do you suppose I 
could?” 

“I don’t ‘suppose’ anything about it, I know,” said the Har- 
vester. “It is not possible that the public can be any more tired 
of wild roses, golden-rod, and swallows than the poor art editors 
who accept them because they can’t help themselves. Dangle 
something fresh and new under their noses and see them snap. 
The next time I go to Onabasha I’ll get you some popular maga- 
zines, SO you can compare what is being used with what you see 
here, and judge for yourself how glad they would be for a change. 
And potteries, arts and crafts shops, and wall paper factories, 
they'd be crazy for the designs I could furnish them. As for 
money, there’s more in it than the herbs, if I only could draw.” 

“T can do that,” said the Girl. “Trail the vine and give me 
an idea how to scale it. Pll just make studies now, then this 
winter I’ll conventionalize them and work them into patterns. 
Won’t that be fun?” 

““That’s more than fun, Ruth,” said the Harvester solemnly. 
‘That is creation. ‘That touches the provinces of the Almighty. 
_ That is taking His unknown wonders and making them into pleas- 
ure and benefit for thousands, not to mention filling your face 
_ with awe divine, and lighting your eyes with interest and ambi- 
_ tion. That is life, Ruth. You are beginning to live right now.” 

“T see,” said the Girl. ‘I understand! I am!” 

“You get your subjects now. When the harvest is over [ll show 
you what I have in my head, so before Christmas the fun will 
_ begin.” 


304. THE HARVESTER 


“What next?” 

“Sketch a sarsaparilla plant and this yam vine. It grows on 
your veranda too—the rattle box, you remember. The leaves and 
seed pods are wonderful. You can do any number of new things 
with them.” 

He brought her samples of ginger leaves, Indian hemp, queen- 
of-the-meadow, cone-flower, burdock, baneberry, and Indian tur- 
nip, as he harvested them in turn. When they came to the large 
beds of orange pleurisy root the Girl cried out with pleasure. 

“We will take its prosaic features first,” said the Harvester. 
“It is good medicine, so worth handling. Forget that! The Bird 
Woman calls it butterfly flower. That’s better. Now try to ana- 
lyze a single bloom and you will see why there’s poetry coming.” 

He knelt beside the Girl, separating the blooms to point out 
their marvellous colour and construction. She leaned against his 
shoulder, watching with breathless interest. As his bare head 
brought its mop of damp wind-rumpled hair close, she ran her 
fingers through it, and with her handkerchief wiped his forehead. 

“Sometimes I almost wish you’d get sick,” she said. 

“In the name of common sense, why?” 

“Oh it is born in the heart of a woman to want to mother 
something,” answered the Girl. “I feel that I would like to take 
care of you, as if you were a little fellow. David, I know why your 
mother fought to make you the man she desired. You must have 
been charming when small. I can shut my eyes and see the boy 
you were. I should have loved you as she did.” 

““How about the man I am?” inquired the Harvester promptly. 
“Any leanings toward him yet, Ruth?” 

“It’s getting worser and worser every day and hour,” said the 
Girl. “I don’t understand it at all. I wouldn’t try to live without 
you. I don’t want you to leave my sight. Everything you do is the 
way I would have it. Nothing you ever say shocks or offends me. 
I’d love to render you any personal service. I want to take you 
in my arms and hug you tight half a dozen times a day as a re- 
ward for the kind and lovely things you do for me.” 

A dull red flamed up the neck and over the face of the Har- 


A VERTICAL SPINE 305 


vester. One arm lifted to the chair back, the other dropped across 
the table, so that the Girl was almost encircled. 

“For the love of mercy, Ruth, why haven’t I had a hint of this 
before?” he cried. 

“You said you’d hate me. You said you’d drop me into the 
deepest part of the lake if I deceived you; so if I have to tell the 
truth, why, that is all of it. I think it is nonsense about some won- 
derful feeling that is going to take possession of your heart when 
you love any one. I love you so much I'd gladly suffer to save 
you pain or sorrow. But there are no thrills; it’s just steady, sober, 
common sense that I should love you, so I do. Why can’t you be 
satisfied with what I can give, David?” 

“Because it’s husks and ashes,” said the Harvester grimly. “You 
drive me to desperation, Ruth. I am almost wild for your love, 
but what you offer me is plain, straight affection, nothing more. 
There isn’t a trace of the feeling that should exist between man 
and wife in it. Some men might be satisfied to be your husband, 
and be regarded as a father or brother. I am not. The redbird 
didn’t want a sister, Ruth, he was asking for a mate. So am I. 
That’s as plain as I know how to put it. There is some way to 
awaken you into a living, loving woman, and, please God, Pil 
find it yet, but I’m slow about it; there’s no question of that. 
Never you mind! Don’t worry! Some of these days I have faith 
to believe it will sweep you as a tide sweeps the shore; then I hope 
God will be good enough to let me be where you will land in my 
arms.” 

The Girl sat looking at him between narrowed lids. Suddenly 
she took his head between her hands, drew his face to hers and 
deliberately kissed him. Then she drew away and searched his 
eyes. 

“There!” she challenged. “What is the matter with that?” 

The Harvester’s colour slowly faded to a sickly white. 

“Ruth, you try me almost beyond human endurance,” he said. 
“ ‘What’s the matter with that?” ’’ He arose, stepped back, folded 
his arms, and stared at her. ‘“ ‘What’s the matter with that?” ” he 
repeated. “Never was I so sorely tempted in all my life as I am 
now to lie to you, to say there is nothing, to take you in my arms 


306 THE HARVESTER 


and try to awaken you to what I mean by love. But suppose I 
do—-and fail! Then comes the agony of slow endurance for me, 
with the possibility that any day you may meet the man who can 
arouse in you the feelings I cannot. ‘That would mean my oath 
broken, and my heart as well; while soon you would dislike me 
beyond tolerance, even. I dare not risk it! The matter is, that was 
the loving caress of a ten-year-old girl to a big brother. That’s all! 
Not much, but a mighty big defect when it is offered a strong 
man as fuel on which to feed consuming passion.” 

“‘ “Consuming passion,” repeated the Girl. “David you never 
lie, and you never exaggerate. Do you honestly mean that there 
is something—oh, there is! I can see it! You are really suffering, 
and if I come to you, and try my best to comfort you, you'll only 
call it baby affection that you don’t want. David, what am I 
going to do?” 

“You are going to the cabin,” said the Harvester, “to cook us 
a big supper. I am dreadfully hungry. [ll be along presently. 
Don’t worry, Ruth, you are all right! That kiss was lovely. Tell 
me that you are not angry with me.” 

Her eyes were wet as she smiled at him. 

“Tf there is a bigger brute than a man anywhere on the foot- 
stool, I should like to meet it,” said the Harvester, ‘‘and see what 
it appears like. Go along, honey; I'll be there as soon as I load.” 

He drove to the dry-house, washed and spread his reaping on 
the big trays, fed the stock, dressed in the white clothing, then 
entered the kitchen. That the Girl had been crying was obvious, 
but he overlooked it, helped with the work, and then they took a 
boat ride. When they returned he proposed that she should select 
her favourite likeness of her mother, so the next time he went to 
the city he could take it with his, and order the enlargements he 
had planned. To save carrying a lighted lamp into the closet he 
brought her little trunk to the living-room, where she opened it 
and hunted the pictures. There were several. All of them were of © 
a young, elegantly dressed woman of great beauty. The Har- 
vester studied them long. 

“Who was she, Ruth?” he asked at last. 

“T don’t know, and have no desire to learn.” 





A VERTICAL SPINE 307 


“Can you explain how the girl here represented came to marry 
a brother of Henry Jameson?” 

“Yes. I was past twelve when my father came the last time, 
so I remember him distinctly. If Uncle Henry were properly 
clothed, he is not a bad man in appearance, unless he is very 
angry. He can use proper language, if he chooses. My father was 
the best in him, refined and intensified. He was much taller, very 
good looking, while he dressed and spoke well. ‘They were born 
and grew to manhood in the East, and came out here at the same 
time. Where Uncle Henry is a trickster and a trader in stock, my 
father went a step higher; he tricked and traded in men—and 
women! Mother told me this much once. He saw her somewhere 
and admired her. He learned who she was, went to her father’s 
law office and pretended he was representing some great business 
in the West, until he was welcomed as a promising client. He 
hung around and when she came in one day her father was 
forced to introduce them. The remainder is the same world-old 
story—a good looking, glib-tongued man, plying every art known 
to an expert, on an innocent girl.” 

“Ts he dead, Ruth?” 

“We thought so. We hoped so.” 

“Your mother did not feel that her people might be suffering 
for her as she was for them?” 

“Not after she appealed to them twice and received no reply.” 
_ “Perhaps they tried to find her. Maybe she has a father or 
mother who is longing for word from her now. Are you very sure 
you are right in not wanting to know?” 

“She never gave me a hint from which I could tell who or 
where they were. In so gentle a woman as my mother that only 
could mean she did not want them to know of her. Neither do I. 
This is the photograph I prefer; please use it.” 

“T’ll put back the trunk in the morning, when I can see better,” 
said the Harvester. 

The Girl closed it, then soon went to bed. But there was no 
sleep for the man. He went into the night, and for hours he paced 
the driveway. Then he sat on the step and looked at Belshazzar 
before him. 


308 THE HARVESTER 


“Life’s growing easier every minute, Bel,” said the Harvester. 
“Here’s my Dream Girl, lovely as the most golden instant of that 
wonderful dream, offering me—offering me, Bel—in my present 
pass, the lips and the love of my little sister who never was born. 
And I’ve hurt Ruth’s feelings, and sent her to bed with a heart- 
ache, trying to make her see that it won’t do. It won’t, Bel! If I 
can’t have genuine love, I don’t want anything. I told her so as 
plainly as I could find words, and set her crying, and made her 
unhappy to end a wonderful day. But in some way she has got 
to learn that propinquity, tolerance, approval, affection, even— 
is not love. I can’t take the risk, after all these years of waiting 
for the real thing. If I did, and love never came, I should end— 
well, I know how I should end—and that would spoil her life. 
I simply have got to brace up, Bel, and keep on trying. She thinks 
it is nonsense about thrills, and some wonderful feeling that takes 
possession of you. Lord, Bel! There isn’t much nonsense about the 
thing that rages in my brain, heart, soul, and body. It strikes 
me as the gravest reality that ever overtook a man. She is grow- 
ing attached to me. ‘Couldn’t live without me,’ Bel, that is what 
she said. Maybe it would be a scheme to bring Granny here to 
stay with her, and take a few months in some city this winter on 
those chemical points that trouble me. There is an old saying 
about ‘absence making the heart grow fonder.’ Maybe separation 
is the thing to work the trick. I’ve tried about everything else I 
know. 

“But I’m in too much of a hurry! What a fool a man is! A 
few weeks ago, Bel, I said to myself that if Harmon were away 
and had no part in her life ’'d be the happiest man alive. Hap- 
piest man alive! Bel, take a look at me now! Happy! Well, why 
shouldn’t I be happy? She is here. She is growing in strength and 
beauty every hour. She cares more for me day by day. From an 
outside viewpoint it seems as if I had almost all a man could ask 
in reason. But when was a strong man in the grip of love ever 
reasonable? I think the Almighty took a pretty grave responsibil- 
ity when He made men as He did. If I had been He, and under- 
stood the forces I was handling, I would have been too big a 
coward to do it. There is nothing for me, Bel, but to move on 


AQVVERTIGALS SPINE 309 
doing my level best; and if she doesn’t awaken soon, I shall try 
the absent treatment. As sure as you are the most faithful dog a 
man ever owned, Bel, I'll try the absent treatment.” 

The Harvester arose and entered the cabin, stepping softly, for 
it was dark in the Girl’s room. He could not hear a sound there. 
He turned up the lights in the living-room. As he did so the first 
thing he saw was the little trunk. He looked at it intently, then 
picked up a book. Every page he turned he glanced again at the 
trunk. At last he laid down the book and sat staring, his brain 
working rapidly. He ended by carrying the trunk to his room. 
He darkened the living-room, lighted his own, drew the rain 
screens, then piece by piece carefully examined the contents. 
There were the pictures, but the name of the photographer had 
been removed. There was not a word that would help in identi- 
fication. He emptied it to the bottom. As he picked up the last 
piece his fingers struck in a peculiar way that did not give the 
impression of touching a solid surface. He felt over it carefully; 
when he examined with a candle he plainly could see where the 
cloth lining had been cut and lifted. 

For a long time he knelt staring at it, then he deliberately in- 
serted his knife blade and raised it. The cloth had been glued to a 
heavy sheet of pasteboard the exact size of the trunk bottom. 
Beneath it lay half a dozen yellow letters, and face down two 
tissue-wrapped photographs. The Harvester examined them 
first. They were of a man close forty, having a strong, aggres- 
sive face, on which pride and dominant will power were promi- 
- nently indicated. The other was a reproduction of a dainty and 
_ delicate woman, with exquisitely tender and gentle features. Long 
_ the Harvester studied them. The names of the photographer and 
the city were missing. There was nothing except the faces. He 
could detect traces of the man in the poise of the Girl and the 
carriage of her head, also suggestions of the woman in the refined 
- sweetness of her expression. Each picture represented wealth in 
_ dress and taste in pose. Finally he laid them together on the table, 
- picked up one of the letters, and read it. Then he read all of them. 
Before he finished, tears were running down his cheeks; soon 
his resolution was formed. These were the appeals of an adoring 


310 THE HARVESTER 


mother, crazed with fear for the safety of an only child, who un- 
fortunately had fallen under the influence of a man the mother 
dreaded and feared, because of her knowledge of life and men of 
his character. They were one long, impassioned plea for the 
daughter not to trust a stranger, not to believe that vows of pas-_ 
sion could be true when all else in life was false, not to trust her — 
untried judgment of men and the world against the experience — 
of her parents. But whether the tears that stained those sheets had 
fallen from the eyes of the suffering mother or the starved and 
deserted daughter, there was no way for the Harvester to know. 
One thing was clear: it was not possible for him to rest until he 
knew if that woman yet lived and bore such suffering. But every 
trace of address had been torn away, while there was nothing to 
indicate where or in what circumstances the letters had been 
written. 

A long time the Harvester sat in deep thought. Then he re- 
turned all the letters save one. This with the pictures he made into 
a packet that he locked in his desk. The trunk he replaced, then 
went to bed. Early the next morning he drove to Onabasha and 
posted the parcel. The address it bore was that of the largest de-. 
tective agency in the country. Then he bought an interesting book, 
a box of fruit, and hurried back to the Girl. He found her on the 
veranda, Belshazzar stretched close with one eye shut, the other 
on his charge, whose cheeks were flushed with lovely colour as 
she bent over her drawing material. The Harvester went to her 
with a rush, and slipping his fingers under her chin, tilted back 
her head against him. 

“Got a kiss for me, honey?” he inquired. 

“No sir,’ answered the Girl emphatically. “I gave you a 
perfectly lovely one yesterday, but you said it was not right. I am 
going to try just once more, if you say again that it won’t do, I’m 
going back to Chicago or to my dear Uncle Henry, I haven’t 
decided which.” 

Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were full of tears. 

“Why thank you, Ruth! I think that is wonderful,” said the 
Harvester. “I'll risk the next one. In the meantime, excuse me if 








A VERTICAL SPINE 311 


I give you a demonstration of the real thing, merely to furnish 
you an idea of how it should be.” 

The Harvester delivered the sample, then went striding to the 
marsh. The dazed Girl sat staring at her work, trying to realize 
what had happened; for that was the first time the Harvester had 
kissed her on the lips. It was the material expression a strong 
man gives the woman he loves when his heart is surging at high 
tide. The Girl sat motionless, gazing at her study. 

In the marsh she knew the Harvester was reaping queen-of- 
the-meadow, and around the high borders, elecampane and bur- 
dock. She could hear his voice in snatches of song or cheery 
whistle; notes that she divined were intended to keep her from 
worrying. Intermingled with them came the dog’s bark of defiance 
as he digged for an escaping chipmunk, his note of pleading 
when he wanted a root cut with the mattock, his cry of discovery 
when he thought he had found something the Harvester would 
like, or his yelp of warning when he scented danger. The Girl 
looked down the drive to the lake or across at the hedge. Every- 
where she saw glowing colour, with intermittent blue sky and 
green leaves, all of it a complete picture, from which nothing 
could be spared. She turned slowly and looked toward the marsh, 
trying to hear the words of the song above the ripple of Singing 
Water; to see the form of the man. Slowly she lifted her hand- 
kerchief and pressed it against her lips, as she whispered in an 
awed voice: “My gracious Heaven, is that the kind of a kiss he 
is expecting me to give him? Why, I couldn’t—not to save my 
life.” 

She placed her brushes in water, set the colour box on the 
paper, then went to the kitchen to prepare the noon lunch. As she 
worked the soft colour deepened in her cheeks, a new light glowed 
in her eyes, while she hummed over the tune that floated across 
the marsh. She was very busy when the Harvester came, but he 
spoke casually of his morning’s work, ate heartily, and ordered 
her to take a nap while he washed roots and filled the trays; then 
they went to the woods together for the afternoon. 

In the evening they came home to finish the day’s work. As the 


318 THE HARVESTER 


night was chilly, the Harvester heaped some bark in the living- 
room fireplace, then lay on the rug before it, while the Girl sat 
in an easy chair watching him as he talked. He was telling her 
about some wonderful combinations he was going to compound 
for different ailments. He laughingly asked her if she wanted to 
live in a palace. 

“Of course I could if I desired!’ she suggested. 

“You could!” cried the Harvester. “‘All that is necessary is to 
combine a few drugs in one remedy and float it. That is easy! 
The people will do the remainder.” 

“You talk as if you believe that,” marvelled the Girl. 

“Want it proved?” challenged the Harvester. 

“No!” she cried in swift alarm. “What do we want with more 
than we have? What is there necessary to happiness that is not 
ours now? Maybe it is true that the ‘love of money is the root of 
all evil.’ Don’t you ever get a lot just to find out. You said the 
night I came here that you didn’t want more than you had, now 
I don’t. I won’t have it! It might bring restlessness and discontent. 
I’ve seen it make other people unhappy and separate them. I 
don’t want money, I want work. You make your remedies and 
offer them to suffering humanity for a living profit, while I keep 
house and draw designs. I am perfectly happy, free, and unspeak- 
ably content. I never dreamed that it was possible for me to be 
so glad; so filled with the joy of life. There is only one thing on 
earth I want. If I only could a 

“Could what, Ruth?” 

“Could get that kiss right 

“Forget it, I tell you!’ he commanded. “Just so long as you 
worry and fret, so long I’ve got to wait. If you quit thinking about 
it, all ‘unbeknownst’ to yourself you’ll awake some morning with 
it on your lips. I can see traces of it growing stronger every day. 
Very soon now it’s going to materialize; then get out of my way, 
for I'll be a whirling, irresponsible lunatic, with the wild joy of 
it. Oh [ve got faith in that kiss of yours, Ruth! It’s on the way. 
The fates have booked it. There isn’t a reason on earth why I 
Should be served so scurvy a trick as to miss it, so I never will 
believe that I shall ts 





33 

















A VERTICAL SPINE 313 


“David,” interrupted the Girl, “go on talking and don’t move 
a muscle, just reach over presently to fix the fire or something; 
then turn naturally and look at the window beside your door.” 

“‘__Shall miss it,’ said the Harvester steadily. 

“That would be too unmerciful. What do you see, Ruth?” 

“A face. If I am not greatly mistaken, it is my Uncle Henry 
and he appears like a perfect fiend. Oh David, I am afraid!” 

“Be quiet and don’t look,” said the Harvester. 

He turned, tossing a piece of bark on the fire. Then he reached 
for the poker, pushed it down and stirred the coals. He arose as 
he worked. 

“Rise slowly and quietly and go to your room. Stay there until 
I call you.” 

With the Girl out of the way, the Harvester pottered over the 
fire; when the flame leaped he lifted a stick of wood, hesitated as 
if it were too small, and laying it down, started to bring a larger 
one. In the dining-room he caught a small stick from the wood 
box, softly stepped from the door, and ran around the house. But 
he awakened Belshazzar on the kitchen floor, so the dog barked 
and ran after him. By the time the Harvester reached the corner 
of his room the man leaped upon a horse and went racing down 
the drive. The Harvester flung the stick of wood, but missed the 
man and hit the horse. The dog sprang past the Harvester and 
vanished. There was the sound and flash of a revolver, and the 
rattle of the bridge as the horse crossed it. The dog came back 
unharmed. The Harvester ran to the telephone, called the Ona- 
basha police, and asked them to send a mounted man to meet the 
intruder before he could reach a cross road; but they were too 
slow and missed him. However, the Girl was certain she had rec- 
ognized her uncle. She was extremely nervous; but the Harvester 
only laughed and told her it was a trip made out of curiosity. Her 
uncle wanted to see if he could learn if she were well and happy. 
He finally convinced her that this was the case, although he was 
not very sanguine himself. 

For the following three days the Harvester worked in the 
woods, but he kept the Girl with him every minute. By the end of 
that time he really had persuaded himself that it was merely 


314 THE HARVESTER 


curiosity. So through the cooling fall days they worked together. 
They were very happy. Before her wondering eyes the Harvester 
hung queer branches, burs, nuts, berries, and trailing vines with 
curious seed pods. There were masses of brilliant flowers, most 
of them strange to the Girl, many to the great average of human- 
ity. While she sat bending over them, beside her the Harvester 
delved in the black earth of the woods, or the clay and sand of 
the open hillside, or the muck of the lake shore, and lifted large 
bagfuls of roots that he later drenched on the floating raft on the 
lake, and when they had drained he dried them. Some of them 
he did not wet, but scraped and wiped clean and dry. Often after 
she was sleeping, and long before she awoke in the morning, he 
was at work carrying heaped trays from the evaporator to the 
storeroom, or tying the roots, leaves, bark, and seeds into pack- 
ages. 

While he gathered trillium roots the Girl made drawings of the 
plant and learned its commercial value. She drew lady’s slipper 
and Solomon’s seal, learning their uses and prices; and carefully 
traced wild ginger leaves while nibbling the aromatic root. It 
was difficult to keep from protesting when the work carried them 
around the lake shore to the pokeberry beds, for the colour of 
these she loved. It required careful explanation as to the value 
of the roots and seeds as blood purifier, and the argument that 
in a few more days the frost would level the bed, to induce her 
to consent to its harvesting. But when the case was properly pre- 
sented, she put aside her drawing and stained her slender fingers 
helping. 

The sun was golden on the lake, the birds of the upland were 
clustering over reeds and rushes, for the sake of plentiful seed 
and convenient water. Many of them sang fitfully, the notes of 
almost all of them were melodious, so the days were long, happy 
dreams. There was but little left to gather until ginseng time. For 
that the Harvester had engaged several boys to help him, for the 
task of digging the roots, washing and drying them, burying part 
of the seeds and preparing the remainder for market seemed end- 
less for one man to attempt. After a full day the Harvester lay 
before the fire, his head so close the Girl’s knee that her fingers 








A VERTICAL SPINE 315 


were in reach of his hair. Every time he mended the fire he moved, 
until he could feel the touch of her garments against him. Then 
he began to plan for the winter; how they would store food for 
the long, cold days, how much fuel would be required, when they 
would go to the city for their winter clothing, what they would 
read, and how they would work together at the drawings. 

“T am almost too anxious to wait longer to get back to my 
carving,” he said. “Whoever would have thought this spring that 
fall would come and find the birds talking of going, the cater- 
pillars spinning winter quarters, the animals holing up, me getting 
ready for the cold, and your candlesticks not finished. Winter is 
when you really need them. Then there is solid cheer in numbers 
of candles and a roaring wood fire. The furnace is going to be a 
good thing to keep the floors and the bathroom warm, but an 
open fire of dry, crackling wood is the only rational source of heat 
in a home. You must watch for the fairy dances on the backwall, 
Ruth, and learn to trace goblin faces in the coals. Sometimes 
there is a panorama of temples and trees, while you will find ex- 
quisite colour in the smoke. Dry maple makes a lovely lavender, 
soft and fine as a floating veil, damp elm makes a blue, and hick- 
ory red and yellow. I almost can tell which wood is burning after 
the bark is gone, by the smoke and flame colour. When the little 
red fire fairies come out and dance on the backwall it is fun to fig- 
ure what they are celebrating. By the way, Ruth, I have been a 
lamb for days. I hope you have observed! But I would sleep 
sounder to-night if you only could give me a hint whether that 
kiss is coming on at all.” He tipped back his head to see her 
face. It was glorious in the red firelight; the big eyes never ap- 
peared so deep and dark. The tilted head struck her hand, and 
her fingers ran through his hair. 

“You said to forget it,” she reminded him, “and then it would 
come sooner.” 

“Which same translated means that it is not here yet. Well, 
I didn’t expect it, so I am not disappointed; but begorry, I do 
wish it would materialize by Christmas. I think I will work for 
that. Wouldn’t it make a day worth while, though? By the way, 
what do you want for Christmas, Ruth?” 


316 THE HARVESTER 


“A doll,” she answered. 

The Harvester laughed. He tipped his head to see her face and 
suddenly grew quiet, for it was very serious. 

“I am quite in earnest,” she said. “I think the big dolls in the 
stores are beautiful, and I never owned only a teeny one. All my 
life P’ve wanted a big doll as badly as I ever longed for anything 
that was not absolutely necessary to keep me alive. In fact, a 
doll is essential to a happy childhood. The mother instinct is so 
ingrained in a girl that if she doesn’t have dolls to love, even as a 
baby, she is deprived of a part of her natural rights. It’s a pitiful 
thing to have been the little girl in the picture who stands outside 
the window and gazes with longing soul at the doll she is anxious 
to own and can’t ever have. Harvester, I was always that little 
girl. I am quite in earnest. I want a big, beautiful doll more than 
anything else.” 

As she talked the Girl’s fingers were idly threading the Har- 
vester’s hair. His head lightly touched her knee, so she shifted 
her position to afford him a comfortable resting place. With a 
thrill of delight that shook him, the man laid his head in her lap, 
his face glowing as a happy boy’s. 

“You shall have the loveliest doll that money can buy, Ruth,” 
he promised. ‘What else do you want?” 

“A roasted goose, plum pudding, and all those indigestible 
things that Christmas stories always tell about; and popcorn balls, 
candy, and everything I’ve always wanted and never had, and 
a long beautiful day with you. That’s all!’ 

“Ruth, ’'m so happy I almost wish I could go to Heaven right 
now before anything occurs to spoil this,” said the Harvester. 

The wheels of a car rattled across the bridge. He whirled to 
his knees, putting his arms around the Girl. 

“Ruth,” he said huskily. “Pll wager a thousand dollars I know 
what is coming. Hug me tight, quick! and give me the best kiss 
you can—any old kind of a one, so you touch my lips with yours 
before I’ve got to open that door and let in trouble.” 

The Girl threw her arms around hisyneck and with the imprint 
of her lips warm on his the Harvester crossed the room. He 
stepped out, closing the door behind him, and crossing the 





SE neat nes a 





A VERTICAL SPINE 317 


veranda, passed down the walk. He recognized the car as belong- 
ing to a garage in Onabasha. In it sat two men, one of whom 
spoke. 

“Are you David Langston?” 

“Yes,” said the Harvester. 

“Did you send a couple of photographs to a New York detec- 
tive agency a few days ago with inquiries concerning some par- 
ties you wanted located?” 

“T did,” said the Harvester. “But I was not expecting any such 
immediate returns.” 

“Your questions touched on a case that long has been in the 
hands of the agency, so they telegraphed the parties. The follow- 
ing day the people had a letter, giving them the information they 
required, from another source.” 

“That is where Uncle Henry showed his fine Spencerian 
hand,” commented the Harvester. “It always will be a great 
satisfaction that I got my fist in first.” 

“Ts Miss Jameson here?” 

“No,” said the Harvester. ‘““My wife is at home. Her surname 
was Ruth Jameson, but we have been married since June. Did 
you wish to speak with Mrs. Langston?” 

“T came for that purpose. My name is Kennedy. I am the law 
partner and the closest friend of the young lady’s grandfather. 
News of her location has prostrated her grandmother so that he 
could not leave her. I was sent to bring the young woman.” 

“Oh!” said the Harvester. “Well you will have to interview 
her about that. One word first. She does not know that I sent 
those pictures and made that inquiry. One other word. She is just 
recovering from a case of fever, induced by wrong conditions of 
life before I met her. She is not so strong as she appears. Under- 
stand you are not to be abrupt. Go very gently! Her feelings and 
health must be guarded with care.” 

The Harvester opened the door. As she saw the stranger, the 
Girl’s eyes widened, she arose and stood waiting. 

“Ruth,” said the Harvester, “this is a man who has been mak- 
ing quite a search for you, and at last he has you located.” 


318 THE HARVESTER 


‘The Harvester went to the Girl’s side, to put a reinforcing arm 
around her. 

“Perhaps he brings you some news that will make life most 
interesting and very lovely for you. Will you shake hands with 
Mr. Kennedy?” 

The Girl suddenly straightened to unusual height. 

“I will hear why he has been making ‘quite a search for me,’ 
and on whose authority he has me ‘located,’ first,” she said. 

A diabolical grin crossed the face of the Harvester. 

“Then please be seated, Mr. Kennedy,” he said, ‘“‘and we will 
talk over the matter. As I understand, you are a representative 
of my wife’s people.” 

The Girl stared at the Harvester. 

“Take your chair, Ruth, and meet this as a matter of course,” 
he advised casually. “You always have known that some day it 
must come. You couldn’t look in the face of those photographs 
of your mother in her youth and not realize that somewhere 
hearts were aching and breaking, and brains were busy in a 
search for her.” 

The Girl stood rigid. “I want it distinctly understood,” she 
said, “that I have no use on earth for my mother’s people. ‘They 
come too late. I absolutely refuse to see or to hold any com- 
munication with them.” 

“But young lady, that is very arbitrary!’’ cried Mr. Kennedy. 
“You don’t understand! They are a couple of old people, who 
are slowly dying of broken hearts!” 

“Not so badly broken or they wouldn’t die slowly,” commented 
the Girl grimly. “The heart that was really broken was my 
mother’s. The torture of a starved, overworked body and hope- 
less brain was hers. ‘There was nothing slow about her death, for 
she went out with only half a life spent, and much of that in 
acute agony, because of their negligence. David, you often have 
said that this is my home. I choose to take you at your word. 
Will you kindly tell this man that he is not welcome in this house, 
and I wish him to leave it at once?” 

The Harvester stepped back, while his face grew very white. 
“T can’t, Ruth,” he said gently. 











A VERTICAL SPINE 2319 


“Why not?” 

“Because I brought him here.”’ 

“You brought him here! You! David, are you crazy? You!” 

“It is through me that he came.” 

The Girl caught the mantel for support. 

“Then I stand alone again,” she said. ‘Harvester, I had 
thought you were on my side.” 

“I am at your feet,” said the man in a broken voice. “Ruth 
dear, will you let me explain?” 

“There is only one explanation; with what you have done for 
me fresh in my mind, I can’t put it into words.” 

“Ruth, hear me!” 

“T must! You force me! But before you speak understand this: 
not now, or through all eternity, do I forgive the inexcusable 
neglect that drove my mother to what I witnessed and was help- 
less to avert.” 

“My dear! My dear!” said the Harvester, “I had hoped the 
woods had done a more perfect work in your heart. Your mother 
is lying in state now, Girl, safe from further suffering of any kind; 
and if I read aright, her tired face and shrivelled frame were elo- 
quent of forgiveness. Ruth dear, if she so loved them that her 
heart was broken and she died for them, think what they are suf- 
fering! Have some mercy on them.” 

‘Get this very clear, David,” said the Girl. “She died of hunger 
for food. Her heart was not so broken that she couldn’t have lived 
a lifetime, and got much comfort out of it, if her body had not 
lacked sustenance. Oh I was so happy a minute ago. David, why 
did you do this thing?” 

The Harvester picked up the Girl, placed her in a chair, kneel- 
ing beside her with his arms around her. 

“Because of the pain in the world, Ruth,” he said simply. 
“Your mother is sleeping in the long sleep that knows neither 
anger nor resentment; so I was forced to think of a gentle-faced, 
little old mother whose heart is daily one long ache, whose eyes 
are dim with tears, and a proud, broken old man who spends his 
time trying to comfort her, when his life is as desolate as hers.” 


320 THE HARVESTER 


“How do you know so wonderfully much about their aches 
and broken hearts?” 

‘“‘Because I have seen their faces when they were happy, Ruth; 
so I know what suffering would do to them. There were pictures 
of them and letters in the bottom of your old trunk. I searched 
it the other night and found them; by what life has done to your 
mother and to you, I can judge what it is now bringing them. 
Never can you be truly happy, Ruth, until you have forgiven 
them, and done what you can to comfort the remainder of their 
lives. I did it because of the pain in the world, my girl.” 

“What about my pain?” 

“The only way on earth to cure it is through forgiveness. ‘That, 
and that only, will ease it all away, and leave you happy and free 
for life and love. So long as you let this rancour eat in your heart, 
Ruth, you are not, and never can be, normal. You must forgive 
them dear, hear what they have to say, and give them the com- 
fort of seeing what they can discover of her in you. Then your 
heart will be at rest at last, your soul free, you can take your right- 
ful place in life, and the love you crave will awaken in your heart. 
Ruth, dear, you are the acme of gentleness and justice. Be just 
and gentle now! Give them their chance! My heart aches, and 
always will ache for the pain you have known, but nursing and 
brooding over it will not cure it. It is going to take a heroic opera- 
tion to cut it out, so I chose to be the surgeon. You have said that 
I once saved your body from pain Ruth, trust me now to free 
your soul.” 

“What do you want?” 

“TI want you to speak kindly to this man, who through my act 
has come here, to allow him to tell you why he came. Then I 
want you to do the kind and womanly thing your duty suggests 
that you should.” 

“David, I don’t understand you 

“That is no difference,” said the Harvester. “The point is, do 
you trust me?” 

The Girl hesitated. ‘“Of course I do,” she said at last. 

“Then hear what your grandfather’s friend has come to say 
for him; forget yourself in doing to others as you would have 


}>? 





A VERTICAL SPINE 321 


them—really, Ruth, that is all of religion or of life worth while. 
Go on, Mr. Kennedy.” 

The Harvester drew up a chair, seated himself beside the Girl, 
then taking one of her hands, he held it closely. 

“IT was sent here by my law partner and my closest friend, Mr. 
Alexander Herron, of Philadelphia,” said the stranger. ‘‘Both he 
and Mrs. Herron were bitterly opposed to your mother’s mar- 
riage, because they knew life and human nature, while there never 
is but one end to men such as she married.” 

“You may omit that,” said the Girl coldly. “Simply state why 
you are here.” 

“In response to an inquiry from your husband concerning the 
originals of some photographs he sent to a detective agency in 
New York. They have had the case for years, and recognizing the 
pictures as a clue, they telegraphed Mr. Herron. The prospect of 
news after years of fruitless searching so prostrated Mrs. Herron 
_ that he dared not leave her, so he sent me.” 

“Kindly tell me this,” said the Girl. “Where were my mother’s 
father and mother for the four years immediately following her 
marriage?” 

“They went to Europe to avoid the humiliation of meeting 
their friends. There, in Italy, Mrs. Herron developed a fever; it 
was several years before she could be brought home. She retired 
from society, and has been confined to her room ever since. When 
they could return, a search was instituted at once for their daugh- 
ter, but they never have been able to find a trace. They have 
hunted through every eastern city they thought might contain 
here 

“And overlooked a little insignificant place like Chicago, of 
course.” 

“T myself conducted a personal search there. I visited the home 
of every Jameson in the directory or who had mail at the office 
or of whom I could get a clue.” 

“T don’t suppose two women in a little garret room would be 
in the directory, while there never was any mail.” 

“Did your mother ever appeal to her parents?” 

“She did,” said the Girl. “She admitted that she had been 


322 THE HARVESTER 


wrong, asked their forgiveness, and begged to go home. ‘That was 
in the second year of her marriage, when she was in Cleveland. 
Afterward she went to Chicago, from there she wrote again.” 

“Her father and mother were in Italy fighting for the mother’s 
life, two years after that. It is very easy to become lost in a large 
city. Criminals do it every day and are never found, even with 
the best detectives on their trail. I am very sorry about this. My 
friends will be broken-hearted. At any time they would have been 
more than delighted to have had their daughter return. A letter 
on the day following the message from the agency brought news 
that she was dead, and now their only hope for any small happi- 
ness at the close of years of suffering lies with you. I was sent to 
plead with you to return with me at once to make them a visit. 
Of course, their home is yours. You are their only heir, so they 
would be very happy if you were free, and would remain perma- 
nently with them.” | 

‘How do they know I will not be like the father they so de- 
tested?” 

“They had sufficient cause to dislike him. They have every 
reason to love and welcome you. They are consumed with anxiety. 
Will you come?” 

“No. This is for me to decide. I do not care for them or their 
property. Always they have failed me when my distress was un- 
speakable. Now there is only one thing I ask of life, more than 
my husband has given me, and if that lay in his power I would 
have it. You may go back and tell them that I am perfectly happy. 
I have everything I need. They can give me nothing I want, not 
even their love. Perhaps, sometime, I will go to see them for a 
few days, if David will go with me.” 

“Young woman, do you realize that you are issuing a death 
sentence?” asked the lawyer gently. 

“Tt is a just one.” 

“T do not believe your husband agrees with you. I know I do 
not. Mrs. Herron is a tiny old lady, with a feeble spark of vitality 
left; with all her strength she is clinging to life, pleading with it 
to give her word of her only child before she goes out unsatisfied. 
She knows that her daughter is gone, so now her hopes are fas- 











A VERTICAL SPINE 323 


tened on you. If for only a few days, you certainly must go with 
me.” 

“T will not!” 

The lawyer turned to the Harvester. 

“She will be ready to start with you to-morrow morning, on 
the first train north,” said the Harvester. ““We will meet you at 
the station at eight.” 

“I—I am afraid I forgot to tell my driver to wait.” 

“You mean your instructions were not to let the Girl from your 
sight,” said the Harvester. “Very well! We have comfortable 
rooms. I will show you to one. Please come this way.” 

The Harvester led the guest to the lake room and arranged for 
the night. ‘Then he went to the telephone and sent a message to 
an address he had been furnished, asking for an immediate reply. 
It went to Philadelphia, contained a description of the lawyer, 
and asked if he had been sent by Mr. Herron to escort his grand- 
daughter to his home. When the Harvester returned to the living- 
room the Girl, white and defiant, waited before the fire. He knelt 
beside her to put his arms around her, but she repulsed him; so 
he sat on the rug and looked at her. 

“No wonder you felt sure you knew what that was!” she cried 
bitterly. 

“Ruth, if you will allow me to lift the bottom of that old trunk, 
and if you will read any one of the half-dozen letters I read, you 
will forgive me, and begin making preparations to go.” 

“Tt’s a wonder you don’t hold them before me and force me 
to read them,” she said. 

“Don’t say anything you will be sorry for after you are gone, 
dear.” 

“Pm not going!” 

“Oh yes you are!” 

“Why?” 

“Because it is right that you should, and right is inexorable. 
Also, because I very much wish you to; you will do it for me.” 

“Why do you want me to go?” 

“T have three strong reasons: first, as I told you, it is the only 
thing that will cleanse your heart of bitterness and leave it free for 


324. THE HARVESTER 


the tenanting of a great and holy love. Next, I think they hon- 
estly made every effort to find your mother, and are now grow- 
ing old in despair you can lighten, so you owe it to them and 
yourself to do it. Lastly, for my sake. I’ve tried everything I know, 
Ruth, but I can’t make you love me, or bring you to a realizing 
sense of it if you do. So before I saw that chest, I had planned 
to harvest my big crop, trying with all my heart while I did it, 
and if love hadn’t come then, I meant to get some one to stay 
with you, while I went away to give you a free perspective for a 
time. I meant to plead that I needed a few weeks with a famous 
chemist I know to prepare me better for my work. My real motive 
was to leave you, to let you see if absence could do anything for 
me in your heart. You’ve been very nearly the creature of my 
hands for months, my girl; whatever any one else may do, you’re 
bound to miss me mightily, so I figured that with me away, per- 
haps you could solve the problem alone I seem to fail in helping 
you with. This is only a slight change of plans. You are going 
in my stead. I will harvest the ginseng and cure it, and then, if 
you are not at home, and the loneliness grows unbearable, I will 
take the chemistry course, until you decide when you will come, 
if ever.” 

Sritvevers 

“Yes,” said the Harvester. “I am growing accustomed to facing 
big propositions—I will not dodge this. The faces of the three of 
your people I have seen prove refinement. Their clothing indi- 
cates wealth. These long, lonely years mean that they will shower 
you with every outpouring of loving, hungry hearts. They will 
keep you if they can, my dear. I do not blame them. The life 
I propose for you is one of work, mostly for others, and the re- 
ward, in great part, consists of the joy in the soul of the creator 
of things that help in the world. I realize that you will find wealth, 
luxury, and lavish love. I know that I may lose you forever. If it 
is right and best for you, I hope I shall. I know exactly what I am 
risking, but I yet say, go.” 

“T don’t see how you can, and love me as you prove you do.” 

“That is a little streak of the inevitableness of nature that the 
forest has ground into my soul. I’d rather cut off my right hand 











A VERTICAL SPINE 325, 


than take yours with it, in the parting that will come in the 
morning; but you are going, and I am sending you. So long as I 
am shaped like a human being, it is in me to dignify the posses- 
sion of a vertical spine by acting as nearly like a man as I know 
how. I insist that you are my wife, because it crucifies me to think 
otherwise. I tell you to-night, Ruth, you are not and never have 
been. You are free as air. You married me without any love for 
me in your heart, and you pretended none. It was all my doing. 
If I find that I was wrong, I will free you without a thought 
of results to me. I am a secondary proposition. I thought then 
that you were alone and helpless. Before the Almighty, I did the 
best I could. But I know now that you are entitled to the love 
of relatives, wealth, and high social position, no doubt. If I al- 
lowed the passion in my heart to triumph over the reason of my 
brain, if I worked on your feelings and tied you to the woods, 
without knowing but that you might greatly prefer that other life 
you do not know, but to which you are entitled, I would go out 
and sink myself in Loon Lake.” 

“David, I love you. I do not want to go. Please, please let me 
remain with you.” 

“Not if you could say that realizing what it means, and give 
me the kiss right now I would stake my soul to win! Not by any 
bribe you can think of or any allurement you can offer. It is right 
that you go to those suffering old people. It is right you know 
what you are refusing for me, before you renounce it. It is right 
you take the position to which you are entitled, until you under- 
stand thoroughly whether this suits you better. When you know 
that life as well as this, the people you will meet as intimately 
as me, then you can decide for all time, and I can look you in the 
face with honest, unwavering eye. If by any chance your heart is 
in the woods, and you prefer me and the cabin to what they have 
to offer—to all eternity your place here is vacant, Ruth. My love 
is waiting for you; and if you come under those conditions, I 
never can have any regret. A clear conscience is worth restraining 
passion a few months to gain, besides, I always have got the fact 
to face that when you say ‘I love,’ and when I say ‘I love,’ it 
means two entirely different things. When you realize that the 


326 THE HARVESTER 


love of man for woman, and woman for man, is a thing that 
floods the heart, brain, soul, and body with a wonderful and all- 
pervading ecstasy, and if I happen to be the man who makes you 
realize it, then come tell me, and we will show God and His holy 
angels what earth means by the Heaven inspired word, ‘radi- 
ance.’ ”’ 

“David, there never will be any other man like you.” 

“The exigencies of life must develop many a finer and better.” 

“You still refuse me? You yet believe I do not love you?” 

“Not with the love I ask, my girl. But if I did not believe it was 
germinating in your heart, that it would come pouring over me 
in a torrent some glad day, I doubt if I could allow you to go, 
Ruth! I am like any other man in selfishness and in the passions 
of the body.” 

“Selfishness! You haven’t any idea what it means,” said the 
Girl. “And what you call love—there I haven’t. But I know how 
to appreciate you, so you may be positively sure that it will be 
only a few days until I shall come back to you.” 

“But I don’t want you unless you can bring the love I crave. 
I am sending you to remain until that time, Ruth.” 

“But it may be months, Man!” 

‘Then stay months.” 

“But it may be " 

“Tt may be never! Then remain forever. ‘That will be proof 
positive that your happiness does not lie in my hands.” 

“Why should I not consider you as you do me?” 

‘Because I love you, and you do not love me.” 

“You are cruel to yourself and to me. You talk about the pain 
in the world. What about the pain in my heart right now? And 
if I know you in the least, one degree more would make you cry 
aloud for mercy. Oh David, are we of no consideration at all?” 

The muscles of the Harvester’s face twisted an instant. 

“This is where we lop off the small branches to grow perfect 
fruit later. This is where we do evil that good may result. This is 
where we suffer to-night in order we may appreciate fully the joy 
of love’s dawning. If I am causing you pain, forgive me, dear 
heart. I would give my life to prevent it, but I am powerless. It 





SANE SAREE em 


Se 





AVVERTPOAL iS PEN E 327 


is right! We cannot avoid doing it, if we ever would be happy.” 

He picked up the Girl, holding her crushed in his arms a long 
time. Then he set her inside her door and said: ‘Lay out what 
you want to take and I will help you pack, so that you can get 
some sleep. We must be ready early in the morning.” 

When the clothing to be worn was selected, the new trunk 
packed, and all arrangements made, the Girl sat in his arms 
before the fire as he had held her when she was ill; then he sent 
her to bed and went to the lake shore to fight it out alone. Only 
God, the stars and the faithful Belshazzar saw the agony of a 
strong man in his extremity. 

Near dawn he heard the tinkle of the bell and went to receive 
his message and order a car for morning. Then he returned to the 
merciful darkness of night, pacing the driveway until light came 
peeping over the tree tops. He prepared breakfast, an hour later 
put the Girl on the train, then stood watching it until the last rift 
of smoke curled above the spires of the city. 


GC. yA Pe TER xx 


The Man in the Background 


THEN the Harvester returned to Medicine Woods to fight his 
battle alone. At first the pain seemed unendurable, but work 
always had been his panacea, it was his salvation now. He went 
through the cabin, folding bedding and storing it in closets, roll- 
ing rugs sprinkled with powdered alum, packing cushions, and 
taking window seats from the light. 

“Our sleeping room and the kitchen will serve for us, Bel,” he 
said. “We will put the other things away carefully, so they will be 
new when the Girl comes home.” 

The evening of the second day he was called to the telephone. 

“There is a message from Philadelphia for you,” said a voice. 
“It reads: ‘Arrived safely. Thank you for making me come. Dear 
old people. Will write soon. With love, Ruth.’ Have you got it?” 

“No,” lied the Harvester, grinning rapturously. “Repeat it 
slowly, and give me time to write it. Now! Go on!” 

He carried the message to the back steps, reading it again and 
again. 

“I supposed I’d have to wait at least four days,” he said to 
Ajax as the bird circled before him. “This is from the Girl, old 
man, and she is not forgetting us to begin with, anyway. She is 
there safely, she sees that they need her, they are lovable old 
people, she is going to write us about it soon, and she loves us 
all she knows how to love any one. That should be enough to keep 
us sane and sensible until her letter comes. There is no use to bor- 











THE MAN IN THE BAGKGROUND 329 


row trouble, so we will say everything in the world is right with 
us, and be as happy as we can on that until we find something 
we cannot avoid worrying over. In the meantime, we will have 
faith to believe that we have suffered our share, and the end will 
be happy for all of us. I am very glad the Girl has a home, and 
the right kind of people to care for her. Now, when she comes 
back to me, I needn’t feel that she was forced, whether she 
wanted to or not, because she had nowhere to go. This will let 
me out with a clean conscience, which is the only thing on earth 
that allows a man to live in peace with himself. I’ll go finish every- 
thing else; then I’ll begin the ginseng harvest.” 

So the Harvester hitched Betsy and with Belshazzar at his feet 
he drove through the woods to the sarsaparilla beds. He noticed 
the beautiful lobed leaves, at which the rabbits had been nibbling, 
and the heads of lustrous purple-black berries as he began dig- 
ging the roots that he sold for stimulants. 

“I might have needed a dose of you now myself,” the Har- 
vester addressed a heap of uprooted plants, “if the electric wires 
hadn’t brought me a letter. Great invention that! Never before 
realized it fully! I thought to-day would be black as night, but 
that message changes the complexion of affairs mightily. So I’ll 
dig you for people who really are in need of something to brace 
them up.” 

After the sarsaparilla was on the trays, he attacked the beds 
of Indian hemp, with its long graceful pods, and took his usual 
supply. Then he worked diligently on the warm hillside over the 
dandelion. When these were finished he brought half a dozen 
young men from the city and drilled them on handling ginseng. 
He was warm, dirty, and tired when he came from the beds the 
evening of the fourth day. He finished his work at the barn, pre- 
pared and ate his supper, slipped into clean clothing, and walked 
to the country road where it crossed the lane. There he opened 
his mail box. The letter he expected with the Philadelphia post- 
mark was inside. He carried it to the bridge, and sitting in her 
favourite place, with the lake breeze threading his hair, opened 
his first letter from the Girl. 

“My dear Friend, Lover, Husband,” it began. 


330 THE HARVESTER 


The Harvester turned the sheets face down across his knee, 
laid his hand on them, and stared meditatively at the lake. 
“Friend,” he commented. ‘‘Well, that’s all right! I am her 
friend, as well as I know how to be. ‘Lover.’ I come in there, 
full force. I did my level best on that score, though I can’t boast 
myself a howling success; a man can’t do more than he knows; 
but if I had been familiar with all the wiles of expert, professional 
love-makers, they wouldn’t have availed me in the Girl’s condi- 
tion. I had a peculiar case to handle in her, and not a particle of 
training. But if she says ‘Lover,’ I must have made some kind of 
a showing on the job. ‘Husband.’”’ A slow flush crept up the 
brawny neck and tinged the bronzed face. ‘““That’s a good word,” 
said the Harvester, “and it must mean a wonderful thing—to 
some men. ‘Who bides his time.’ Well, I’m ‘biding,’ and if my 
time ever comes to be my Dream Girl’s husband, I'll wager all 
I’m worth on one thing: I'll study the job from every point of 
the compass, and I'll see what showing I can make on being the 
kind of a husband that a woman clings to and loves at eighty.” 

Taking a deep breath the Harvester lifted the letter, and laying 
one hand on Belshazzar’s head, he proceeded—“I might as well 
admit in the beginning that I cried most of the way here. Some 
of it was because I was nervous and dreaded the people I would 
meet, and more on account of what I felt toward them, but most 
of it was because I did not want to leave you. I have been spoiled 
dreadfully! You have taught me so to depend on you—and for 
once I feel that I really can claim to have been an apt pupil— 
that it was like having the heart torn out of me to come. I want 
you to know this, because it will teach you that I have a little bit 
of appreciation of how good you are to me, and to all the world 
as well. I am glad that I almost cried myself sick over leaving 
you. I wish now I just had stood up in the car, and roared like 
a burned baby. 

“But the tears I shed in fear of grandfather and grandmother 
were wasted. They are a couple of dear old people. It would have 
been a crime to allow them to suffer more than they must of 
necessity. It all seems so different when they talk; and when I 
see the home, luxuries, and friends my mother had, it appears 





THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 331 


utterly incomprehensible that she dared leave them for a stranger. 
Probably the reason she did was because she was grandfather’s 
daughter. He is gentle and tender some of the time, but when 
anything irritates him, and something does every few minutes, he 
breaks loose, and such another explosion you never heard. It does 
not mean a thing, and it seems to lower his tension enough to 
keep him from bursting with palpitation of the heart or some- 
thing, but it is a strain for others. At first it frightened me dread- 
fully. Grandmother is so tiny and frail, so white in her big 
bed, but when he is the very worst, she only smiles at him, so I 
know he does not mean it. But, David, I hope you never will get 
an idea that this would be a pleasant way for you to act, because 
it would not, and I never would have the courage to offer you 
the love I have come to find if you slammed a cane and yelled, 
‘demnation,’ at me. Grandmother says she does not mind at all, 
but I wonder if she did not acquire the habit of lying in bed be- 
cause it is easier to endure in a prostrate position. 

“The house is so big I get lost; I do not know yet which are 
servants and which friends; and there is a steady stream of seam- 
stresses and milliners making things for me. Grandmother and 
father both think I will be quite passable in appearance when 
I am what they call ‘modishly dressed.’ I think grandmother will 
forget herself some day and leave her bed before she knows it, in 
her eagerness to see how something appears. I could not begin 
to tell you about all the lovely things to wear, for every occasion 
under the sun, and they say these are only temporary, until some 
can be made especially for me. 

“They divide the time in sections, and there is an hour to drive, 
I am to have a horse and ride later, and a time to shop, so long 
to visit grandmother, and set hours to sleep, dress, to be fitted, 
taken to see things, music lessons, and a dancing teacher. I think 
a longer day will have to be provided. 

“T do not care anything about dancing. I know what would 
make me dance nicely enough for anything, but I am going to try 
the music, and see if I can learn just a few little songs and some 
old melodies for evening, when the work is done, the fire burns 
low, and you are resting on the rug. There is enough room for a 


332 THE HARVESTER 


piano between your door and the south wall and that corner 
seems vacant anyway. You would like it, David, I know, if I 
could play and sing just enough to put you to sleep nicely. It is 
in the back of my head that I will try to do every single thing, 
just as they want me to, for that will make them happy, but never 
forget that the instant I feel in my soul that your kiss is right on 
my lips, I am coming to you by lightning express; I told them 
so the first thing, and that I only came because you made me. 

“They did not raise an objection, but I am not so dull that 
I cannot see they are trying to bind me to them from the very 
first with chains too strong to break. We had just one little clash. 
Grandfather was mightily pleased over what you told Mr. Ken- 
nedy about my never having been your wife, and that I was really 
free. There seems to be a man, the son of his partner, whom 
grandfather dearly loves, and he wants me to be friends with his 
friend. One can see at once what he is planning, because he said 
he was going to introduce me as Miss Jameson. I told him that 
would be creating a false impression, because I was a married 
woman; but he only laughed at me and went straight to doing it. 

“Of course, I know why, but he is so terribly set I cannot stop 
him, so I shall have to tell people myself that I am a staid, old 
married lady. After all, I suppose I might as well let him go, if 
it pleases him. I shall know how to protect myself and any one 
else, from any mistakes concerning me; for in my heart I know 
what I know; what I cannot make you believe, but I will some 
day. 

“TI suspect you’re harvesting the ginseng now. The roar and 
rush of the city seem strange, as if I never had heard it before, 
and I feel so crowded. I scarcely can sleep at night for the 
clamour of the cars, cabs, and throbbing life. Grandfather will 
not hear a word, and he just sputters and says ‘demnation’ when 
I try to tell him about you; but grandmother will listen, so I talk 
to her of you and Medicine Woods by the hour. She says she 
thinks you must be a wonderfully nice person. I haven’t dared tell 
her yet the thing that will win her. She is so little and frail, and 
she has heart trouble so badly; but some day I shall tell her all 
about Chicago that I can, then of Uncle Henry, then about you 





eee ane 


THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 333 


and the oak, and that will make her love you as I do. There are 
so many things to do; they have sent for me three times. I shall 
tell them they must put you on the schedule, and give me so much 
time to write or I will upset the whole programme. 

“I think you will like to know that Mr. Kennedy told grand- 
father all you said to him about my illness, for almost as soon 
as I came he brought a very wonderful man to my room. He 
asked many questions so I told him all about it, and what I had 
been doing. He made out a list of things to eat and exercises. 
I am being taken care of just as you did, so I will go on growing 
well and strong. The trouble is they are too good to me. I would 
just love to shuffle my feet in dead leaves, and lie on the grass this 
morning. I never got my swim in the lake. I will have to save 
that until next summer. He also told grandfather what you said 
about Uncle Henry. I think he was pleased that you tried to find 
him as soon as you knew. He let me see the letter Uncle Henry 
wrote; it was a vile thing—just such as he would write. It asked 
how much he would be willing to pay for information concern- 
ing his heir. I told grandfather all about it, and I saw the answer 
he wrote. I told him some things to say. One of them was that 
the honesty of a man without a price prevented the necessity of 
anything being paid to find me. The other was that you located 
my people yourself, and at once sent me to them against my 
wishes. I was determined he should know that. So Uncle Henry 
missed his revenge on you. He evidently thought he not only 
would hurt you by breaking up your home and separating us, 
but also he would get a reward for his work. He wrote some 
untrue things about you. I wish he hadn’t, for grandfather can 
think of enough himself. But I will soon change that. Please, 
please take good care of all my things, my flowers and vines, and 
most of all tell Belshazzar to protect you with his life. And you 
be very good to my dear, dear lover. I will write again soon, 
Ruth.” 

When the Harvester had studied the letter until he could re- 
peat it backward, he went to the cabin and answered it. Then 
he sent subscriptions for two of Philadelphia’s big dailies, and 
harvested ginseng from dawn until black darkness. Never was 


334 THE “HARVESTER 


such a crop grown in America. ‘The beds had been made in the 
original home of the plant, so that it throve under perfectly 
natural conditions in the forest, but here and there branches had 
been thinned above, and nature helped by science below. This 
resulted in thick, pulpy roots of astonishing size and weight. As 
the Harvester lifted them he bent the tops and buried part of the 
seed for another crop. For weeks he worked over the bed. ‘Then 
the last load went down the hill to the dry-house and the helpers 
were paid. Next the fall work was finished. Fuel and food were 
stored for winter, while the cold crept from the lake, swept down 
the hill and surrounded the cabin. 

‘The Haryester finished long days in the dry-house and store- 
room, then after supper he sat by the fire reading over the Girl’s 
letters, carving on her candlesticks, or in the workroom, bending 
above the boards he was shaving and polishing for a gift he had 
planned for her Christmas. ‘The Careys had him in their home 
for Thanksgiving. He told them all about sending the Girl away 
himself, read them some of her letters, and they talked with per- 
fect assurance of how soon she would come home. ‘The Harvester 
tried to think confidently, but as the days went by the letters be- 
came fewer, always with the excuse that there was no time to 
write, but with loving assurance that she was thinking of him and 
would do better soon. 

However they came often enough that he had something new 
to tell his friends so that they did not suspect that waiting was a 
trial to him. A few days after Thanksgiving the gift that he had 
planned was finished. It was a big, burl-maple box, designed after 
the hope chests that he saw advertised in magazines. The wood 
was rare, cut in heavy slabs, polished inside and out, dove-tailed 
corners with ornate brass bindings, hinges and lock, and hand- 
carved feet. On the inside of the lid cut on a brass plate was the 
inscription, ‘““Ruth Langston, Christmas of Nineteen Hundred 
and Ten. David.” 

Then he began packing the chest. He put in the finished candle- 
sticks and a box of candleberry dips he had made of delightfully 
spiced wax, coloured pale green. He ordered the doll weeks before 
from the largest store in Onabasha. The dealer brought on several 








THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 335 


that he might make a selection. He chose a large baby doll almost 
life size, then sent it to the dress-making department to be com- 
pletely and exquisitely clothed. Long before the day he was pick- 
ing kernels to glaze from nuts, drying corn to pop, and planning 
candies to be made of maple sugar. When he figured it was time 
to start the box, he worked carefully, filling spaces with chestnut 


_ and hazel burs, and finishing the tops of boxes with gaudy red and 


yellow leaves he had kept in their original brightness by packing 
them in sand. He put in scarlet berries of mountain ash and long 


_ twining sprays of yellow and red bitter-sweet berries, for her 
_ room. Then he carefully covered the chest with cloth, packed it 
_ in an outside box, and sent it to the Girl by express. As he came 
_ from the train shed, where he had helped with loading, he met 


Henry Jameson. Instantly the long arm of the Harvester reached 
for him. In a grip that could not be broken he caught the man 
by the back of the neck and dangled him. As he did so he roared 


_ with laughter. 


“Dear Uncle Henry!” he cried. ““How did you feel when you 


_ got your letter from Philadelphia? Wasn’t it a crime that an hon- 
_ est man, which same refers to me, beat you? Didn’t you gnash 
_ your teeth when you learned that instead of separating me from 


my wife I had found her people and sent her to them myself? 
Didn’t it rend your soul to miss your little revenge and fail to get 
the good, fat reward you confidently expected? Ho! Ho! Thus 
are lofty souls downcast. I pity you, Henry Jameson, but not so 
much that I won’t break your back if you meddle in my affairs 
again, and I am taking this opportunity to tell you so. Here you 
go out of my life, for if you appear in it once more I will finish 
you like a copperhead. Understand?” With a last shake the Har- 
vester dropped him, and went into the express office, where sev- 
eral men had watched the proceedings. 

“Been dipping in your affairs, has he?’ asked the expressman. 

“Trying it,” laughed the Harvester. 

“Well he is just moving to Idaho, so you probably won’t be 
bothered with him any more.” 

“Good news!”’ said the Harvester. He felt much relieved as he 
drove back to Medicine Woods. 


336 THE HARVESTER 


The Careys had invited him, but he chose to spend Christmas 
alone. He had finished breakfast when the telephone bell rang, 
and the expressman told him there was a package for him from 
Philadelphia. The Harvester rode to the city at once. ‘The pack- 
age was so very small he slipped it into his pocket, then went to 
the doctor’s to say Merry Christmas! To Mrs. Carey he gave a 
pretty lavender silk dress; to the doctor a new watch chain. Then 
he went to the hospital, where he left with Molly a set of china 
dishes from the Girl, and a fur-lined great coat, his gift to Doctor 
Harmon. He rode home and stabled Betsy, giving her an extra 


quart of oats, then going into the house he sat by the kitchen fire 


and opened the package. 

In a nest of cotton lay a tissue-wrapped velvet box; inside that, 
in a leather pocket case, an ivory miniature of the Girl by an 
artist who knew how to reproduce life. It was an exquisite pic- 
ture; a face of wonderful beauty. He looked at it for a long time; 
then called Belshazzar and carried it out to show Ajax. Then he 
put it into his breast pocket squarely over his heart, but he wore 
the case shiny the first day taking it out. Before noon he went 
to the mail box and found a long letter from the Girl, full of life, 
health, happiness, and with assurances of love for him, but no 
mention of coming home. 


She seemed engrossed in the music lessons, riding, dancing, 


pretty clothing, splendid balls, receptions, and parties of all kinds. — 


The Harvester answered it with his heart full of love for her, and 
then waited. It was a long week before the reply came, and then 
it was short on account of so many things that must be done, but 
she insisted that she was well, happy, and having a fine time. 
After that the letters became less frequent and shorter. At times 
there would be stretches of almost two weeks with not a line; 
then only short notes to explain that she was too busy to write. 

Through the dreary, cold days of January and February the 
Harvester invented work in the storeroom, in the workshop, at 
the candlesticks, sat long over great books, or spent hours in 
the little laboratory preparing and compounding drugs. In the 
evenings he carved or read. First of all he scanned the society 
columns of the papers he was taking, and almost every day he 





me a a me 





Tah MAN TIONG THE BACKGROUND G37 


found the name of Miss Ruth Jameson, often a paragraph de- 
scribing her dress and her beauty of face and charm of manner; 
while constantly the name of Mr. Herbert Kennedy appeared as 
her escort. At first the Harvester ignored this, saying to himself 
that he was glad she could have enjoyable times and congenial 
friends, and he was. But as the letters became fewer, paper para- 
graphs more frequent, and approaching spring worked its old in- 
sanity in the blood, gradually an ache crept into his heart again, 
and there were days when he could not work it out. 

Every letter she wrote he answered just as warmly as he felt 
that he dared, but when they were so long coming and his heart 
was overflowing, he picked up a pen one night and wrote what 
_ he felt. He told her all about the ice-bound lake, the lonely crows 
in the big woods, the sap suckers’ cry, and the gay cardinals’ 
_ whistle. He told her about the cocoons dangling on bushes or 
rocking on twigs that he was cutting for her. He warned her that 
_ spring was coming, and soon she would begin to miss wonders 
_ for her pencil. Then he told her about the silent cabin, the empty 
_ rooms, and a lonely man. He begged her not to forget the kiss 
_ she had gone to find for him. He poured out his heart unre- 
_ strainedly, then folded the letter, sealed and addressed it to her, 
in care of the fire fairies, and pitched it into the ashes of the living- 
room fireplace. But expression made him feel better. 

There was another longer wait for the next letter, but he had 
written her so many in the meantime that a little heap of them 
had accumulated as he passed through the living-room on his way 
to bed. He had supposed she would be gone until after Christmas 
when she left, but he never had thought of harvesting sassafras 
and opening the sugar camp alone. In those days his face ap- 
peared weary, while white hairs came again on his temples. Carey 
met him on the street and told him that he was going to the 
National Convention of Surgeons at New York in March, and 
asked him to go along and present his new medicine for consid- 
eration. 

“All right,” said the Harvester instantly, “I will go.” 

He went and interviewed Mrs. Carey; then visited the doctor’s 
tailor, and a shoe store, buying everything required to put him in 


338 THE HARVESTER 


condition for travelling in good style, and for the banquet he 
would be invited to attend. Then he got Mrs. Carey to coach him 
on spoons and forks, and declared he was ready. When the doctor 
saw that the Harvester really would go, he sat down and wrote 
the president of the association, telling him in brief outline of 
Medicine Woods and the man who had achieved a wonderful 
work there, and of the compounding of the new remedy. 

As he expected, return mail brought an invitation for the Har- 
vester to address the association and describe his work and meth- 
ods and present his medicine. The doctor went out in the car over 
sloppy roads with that letter, locating the Harvester in the sugar 
camp. He explained the situation and to his surprise found his 
man intensely interested. He asked many questions as to the 
length of time, and amount of detail required in a proper paper 
so the doctor told him. 

“But if you want to make a clean sweep, David,’ he said, 
‘write your paper simply, then practise until it comes easy be- 
fore you speak.” 

That night the Harvester left work long enough to get a note- 
book, and by the light of the camp fire, in company with the owls 
and coons, he wrote his outline. One division described his geo- 
graphical location, another traced his ancestry and education in 
wood lore. One was a tribute to the mother who moulded his 
character and ground into him stability for his work. The re- 
mainder described his methods in growing drugs, drying and 
packing them; the end was a presentation for their examination 
of the remedy that had given life where a great surgeon had con- 
ceded death. Then he began amplification. 

When the sugar making was over the Harvester commenced 
his regular spring work, but his mind was so busy over his paper 
that he did not have much time to realize just how badly his heart 


was beginning to ache. Neither did he consign so many letters to 
the fire fairies, for now he was writing of the best way to dry 
hydrastis and preserve ginseng seed. The day before time to start 
he drove to Onabasha to try on his clothing and have Mrs. Carey 


see if he had been right in his selections. 
While he was gone, Granny Moreland, wearing a clean calico 


THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 339 


_ dress and carrying a juicy apple pie, came to the stretch of 
- flooded marsh land; finding the path under water, she followed 
_ the road and crossing a field reached the levee which led to the 
_ bridge of Singing Water where it entered the lake. She rested a 


few minutes there, and then went to the cabin. She opened the 
front door, entered, and stood staring around her. 
“Why things is all tore up here,” she said. “Now ain’t that 


_ sensible of David to put everything away and save it nice and 
_ careful until his woman gets back. Seems as if she’s good and 


plenty long coming; seems as if her folks needs her mighty bad, 
or she’s having a better time than the boy is or something.” 

She set the pie on the table, went through the cabin and up 
the hill a short distance, calling the Harvester. When she passed 
the barn she missed Betsy, so she knew he was in town. She re- 
turned to the living-room and sat looking at the pie as she rested. 

“T’d best put you on the kitchen table,” she mused. “Likely 
he will see you there first and eat you while you are fresh. I’d 
hate mortal bad for him to overlook you, and let you get stale, 
after all the care I’ve took with your crust, and all the sugar, 
cinnamon, and butter that’s under your lid. You’re a mighty nice 
pie, so you ort to be et hot. Now why under the sun is all them 
clean letters pitched in the fireplace?” 

Granny knelt and selecting one, she blew off the ashes, and 
read: “To Ruth, in care of the fire fairies.” 

“What the Sam Hill is the idiot writin’ his woman like that 
for?” cried Granny, bristling instantly. “And why is he puttin’ 
pages and pages of good reading like this must have in it in care 
of the fire fairies? Too much alone, I guess! He’s going wrong in 
his head. Nobody at themselves would do sech a fool trick as this. 
I believe I had better do something. Of course I had! These is 
writ to Ruth; she ort to have them. Wish’t I knowed how she gets 
her mail, I’d send her some. Mebby three! I'd send a fat and 
a lean, and a middlin’ so’s that she’d have a sample of all the 
kinds they is. It’s no way to write letters and pitch them in the 
ashes. It means the poor boy is honin’ to say things he dassent, 
so he’s writin’ them out and never sendin’ them at all. What’s the 
little huzzy gone so long for, anyway? I'll fix her!” 


340 THE HARVESTER 


Granny selected three letters, wiped away the ashes, and tucked 
the envelopes inside her dress. 

“If I only knowed how to get at her,” she muttered. She stared 
at the pie. “I guess you got to go back,” she said, “and be et by 
me. Like as not I’ll stall myself, for I got one a-ready. But if 
David has got these fool things counted and misses any, and then | 
finds that pie here, he’ll s’picion me. Yes, I got to take you back, — 
and hurry my stumps at that.” | 

Granny arose with the pie, cast a lingering and covetous | 
glance at the fireplace, stooped and took another letter; then | 
started down the drive. Just as she reached the bridge she saw | 
the Harvester coming up the levee. Instantly she threw the pie 
over the railing, then with a groan watched it strike the water | 
and disappear. 

“Lord of love!” she gasped, sinking to the seat, “that was one 
of grandmother’s willer plates that I promised Ruth. ’Tain’t likely 
I’ll ever see hide ner hair of it again. But they wa’ant no place to 
put it, and I dassent let him know I’d been up to the cabin. 
Mebby I can fetch a boy some day and hire him to dive for it. | 
How long can a plate be in water and not get spiled anyway? 
Now what'll I do? My head’s all in a whirl! I'll bet my bosom — 
is a sticking out with his letters ’til he'll notice and take them | 
from me.” | 

She gripped her hands across her chest, then sat staring at the | 
Harvester as he stopped on the bridge. Seeing her attitude and 
distressed face, he sprang from the wagon. 

“Why Granny, are you sick?” he cried anxiously. 

“Yes!? gasped Granny Moreland. “Yes, David, I am! I’m a 
miserable woman. I never was in sech a shape in all my days.” 

“Let me help you to the cabin, and I’ll see what I can do for 
you,” offered the Harvester. 

‘No. This is jest out of your reach,” said the old lady. “I want 
—I want to see Doctor Carey bad.” 

“Are you strong enough to ride in or shall I bring him?” 

“I can go as well as not, David, if you’ll take me.” 

“Tet me run Betsy to the barn and get the Girl’s phaeton. The 
wagon is too rough for you.” 








THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 34I 


The Harvester leaped into the wagon, catching up the lines. 
As he disappeared around the curve of the driveway Granny 
snatched the letters from her dress front, thrusting them deep 
into one of her stockings. 

“Now, drat you!” she cried. “Stick out all you please. Nobody 
will see you there.” 

In a few minutes the Harvester helped her into the carriage 
and drove rapidly toward the city. 

“You needn’t strain your critter,’ 
bad as that, David.” 

“Is your chest any better?” 

“A sight better,’ said Granny. “Shakin’ up a little ’pears to 
do me good.” 

“You never should have tried to walk. Suppose I hadn’t been 
here. I'll have a telephone run to your house so you can call me 
after this.” 

Granny sat very straight suddenly. 

“My! wouldn’t that get away with some of my foxy neigh- 
bours,”’ she said. “Me to have a ’phone like they do, an’ be con- 
versin’ at all hours of the day with my son’s folks and everybody. 
I’d be tickled to pieces.” 

“Then [ll never dare do it,” said the Harvester, “because I 
can’t keep house without you.” 

‘“‘Where’s your own woman?” promptly inquired Granny. 

“She can’t leave her people. Her grandmother is sick.” 

“Grandmother your foot!” cried the old woman. “I’ve been 
hearing that song and dance from the neighbours, but you got to 
fool younger people than me on it, David. When did any grand- 
mother ever part a pair of youngsters jest married, for months at 
a clip? I’d like to cast my eyes on that grandmother. She’s a new 
breed! I was as good a mother as ’twas in my skin to be, and Pd 
like to see a child of mine do it for me; and as for my grand- 
children, it hustles some of them to re-cog-nize me passing on the 
big road, ’specially if it’s Peter’s girl with a town beau.” 

The Harvester laughed. The old lady leaned toward him with 
a quaver in her voice, and asked softly: “Got ary friend that 
could help you, David?” 


3 


said Granny. “It’s not so 


34.2 THE HARVESTER 


The man looked straight ahead in silence. 

“Bamfoozle all the rest as much as you please, lad, but I stand 
to you in the place of your ma; so I ast you plainly—got ary | 
friend that could help?” 

“T can think of no way in which any one possibly could help — 
me, dear,” said the Harvester gently. “It is a matter I can’t ex- 
plain, but I know of nothing that any one could do.” 

“You mean you’re tight-mouthed! You could tell me just like 
you would your ma, if she was up and comin’; but you can’t quite 
put me in her place, and spit it out plain. Now mebby I can help | 
you! Is it her fault or yourn?” 

“Mine! Mine entirely!” 

“Hum! What a fool question! I might a knowed it! I never 
saw a lovinger, sweeter girl in these parts. I jest worship the 
ground she treads on; and you, lad, you hain’t had a heart in > 
your body sence first you saw her face. If I had the stren’th, Pd | 
haul you out of this keeridge and I’d hammer you meller, David > 
Langston. What in the name of sense have you gone and done to — 
the purty, lovin’ child?” 

The Harvester’s face flushed, but a line around his mouth | 
whitened. 

“Loosen up!” commanded Granny. “I got some rights in this_ 
case that mebby you don’t remember. You asked me to help you~ 
get ready for her, so I done what you wanted. You invited me _ 
to visit her, and I jest loved her sweet, purty ways. You wanted ~ 
me to shet up my house and come over for weeks to help take | 
keer of her, and I done it gladly, for her pain and your suf- 
ferin’ cut me as if ’twas my livin’ flesh and blood; so you can’t 
shet me out now. I’m in with you and her to the end. What a 
blame fool thing have you gone and done to drive away for 
months a girl that fair worshipped you?” 

“That’s exactly the trouble, Granny,” said the Harvester. “She 
didn’t! She merely respected and was grateful to me, and she 
loved me as a friend; but I never was any nearer her husband 
than I am yours.” 

“I’ve always knowed they was a screw loose somewhere,’ com- 
mented Granny. ‘And so you’ve sent her off to her worldly folks 














THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 343 


in a big, wicked city to get weaned away from you complete?” 

“T sent her to let her see if absence would teach her anything. 
I had months with her here, and I lay awake at nights thinking 
up new plans to win her. I worked for her love as I never worked 
for bread, but I couldn’t make it. So I let her go to see if separa- 
tion would teach her anything.” 

“Mercy me! Why you crazy critter! The child did love you! 
She loved you ’nough an’ plenty! She loved you faithful and true! 
You was jest the light of her eyes. I don’t see how a girl could 
think more of a man. What in the name of sense are you expect- 
ing months of separation to teach her, but to forget you, and 
mebby turn her to some one else?” 

“T hoped it would teach her what I call love, means,” ex- 
plained the Harvester. 

“Why you dratted popinjay! If ever in all my born days I 
wanted to take a man and jest lit’rally mop up the airth with 
him, it’s right here and now. ‘Absence teach her what you call 
love.’ Idiot! That’s your job!” 

“But, Granny, I couldn’t!”’ 

“Wouldn’t, you mean, no doubt! I hain’t no manner of a no- 
tion in my head but that child, depending on you, and grateful 
as she was, and tender and loving, and all sech as that—I hain’t 
a doubt but she come to you plain and told you she loved you 
with all her heart. What more could you ast?” 

“That she understand what love means before I can accept 
what she offers.” 

“You puddin’ head! You blunderbuss!” cried Granny. “Un- 
derstand what you mean by love. If you’re going to bar a woman 
from being a wife ’til she knows what you mean by love, you'll 
stop about nine-tenths of the weddings in the world, and t’other 
tenth will be women that no decent-minded man would jine 
with.” 

“Granny, are you sure?” 

“Well livin’ through it, and up’ard of seventy years with other 
women, ort to teach me something. The Girl offered you all any 
man needs to ast or git. Her foundations was laid in faith and 
trust. Her affections was caught by every loving, tender, thought- 


344 THE HARVESTER 


ful thing you did for her; and everybody knows you did a-plenty, 
David. I never see sech a master hand at courtin’ as you be. You 
had her lovin’ you all any good woman knows how to love a man. 
All you needed to a-done was to take her in your arms, and make 
her your wife, and she'd ’a’ waked up to what you meant by 
love.” 7 

“But suppose she never awakened?” 

‘““Aw, bosh! S’pose water won’t wet! S’pose fire won’t burn! 
S’pose the sun won’t shine! That’s the law of nature, man! If you 
think I hain’t got no sense at all I jest dare you to ask Doctor 
Carey. *IT'wouldn’t take him long to comb the kinks out of you.” 

“T don’t think you have left any, Granny,” said the Harvester. 
“T see what you mean, and in all probability you are right, but I 
can’t send for the Girl.” 

‘“‘Name o’ goodness why?” 

“Because I sent her away against her will. Now she is remain- 
ing so long that there is every probability she prefers the life she 
is living and the friends she has made there, to Medicine Woods 
and to me. The only thing I can do is to await her decision.” 

“Oh good Lord!” groaned Granny. “You make me sick 
enough to kill. Touch up your nag and hustle me to Doc. You 
can’t get me there quick enough to suit me.” 

At the hospital she faced Doctor Carey. “I think likely some of 
my innards has got to be cut out and mended,” she said. “ll jest 
take a few minutes of your time to examination me, and see what 
you can do.” 

In the private office she held the letters toward the doctor. 
“They hain’t no manner of sickness ailin’ me, Doc. The boy out 
there is in deep water. I knowed how much you thought of him, 
so I hoped you’d give me a lift. I went over to his place this 
mornin’ to take him a pie, and I found his settin’ room fireplace 
heapin’ with letters he’d writ to Ruth about things his heart was 
jest so bustin’ full of it eased him to write them down, and then 
he hadn’t the horse sense and trust in her jedgment to send them on 
to her. I picked two fats, a lean, and a middlin’ for samples, and 
I thought I’d send them some way, so I struck for home with 
them an’ he ketched me plumb on the bridge. I had to throw my 





THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 345 


pie overboard, willer plate and all, and as God is my witness, I 
was so flustered the boy had good reason to think I was sick 
a-plenty; and soon as he noticed it, I thought of you spang off. I 
knowed you’d know her whereabouts, so I made him fetch me to 
you. On the way I jest dragged it from him that he’d sent her 
away his fool self, because she didn’t sense what he meant by love, 
and she wa’ant beholden to him same degree and manner he was 
to her. Great day, Doc! Did you ever hear a piece of foolishness 
to come up with that? I told him to ast you! I told him you’d tell 
him that no clean, sweet-minded girl ever had known nor ever 
would know what love means to a man ’til he marries her and 
teaches her. Ain’t it so, Doc?” 

“Tt certainly is.” 

“Then will you grind it into him, clean to the marrer, and will 
you send these letters on to Ruthie?” 

“Most certainly I will,” said the doctor emphatically. 

Granny opened the door and walked out: “I’m so relieved, 
David,” she said. “He thinks they won’t be no manner o’ need to 
knife me. Likely he can fix up a few pills and send them out by 
mail so’s that Pll be as good as new again. Now we must get right 
out of here and not take valuable time. What do I owe you, 
Doc?” 

“Not a cent,” said Doctor Carey. “Thank you very much for 
coming to me. You’ll soon be all right again.” 

“I was some worried. Much obliged I am sure.” 

“One minute,” said the doctor. “David, I am making up a list 
of friends to whom I am going to send programmes of the medi- 
cal meeting, and I thought your wife might like to see you among 
the speakers, and your subject. What is her address?” 

A slow red flushed the Harvester’s cheeks. He opened his lips 
and hesitated. At last he said: “I think perhaps her people prefer 
that she receive mail under her maiden name while with them. 
Miss Ruth Jameson, care of Alexander Herron, 5770 Chestnut 
Street, Philadelphia, will reach her.” 

The doctor wrote the address, as if it were the most usual thing 
in the world, then asked the Harvester if he were ready to make 
the trip east. “I think we had best start to-night,” he said. “We 


346 THE HARVESTER 


want a day to grow accustomed to our clothes and new surround- 
ings before we run up squarely against serious business.” 

“T will be ready,” promised the Harvester. 

He took Granny home, set his house in order, installed the man 
he was leaving in charge, touched a match to the heap in the 
fireplace, and donning the new travelling suit, he went to Doctor 
Carey’s. 

Mrs. Carey added a few touches, warned him to remember 
about the forks and spoons, and not to forget to shave often, and 
saw them off. At the station Carey said to him: “You know, 
David, we can change at Wayne and go through Buffalo, or we 
can take the Pittsburg and go and come through Philadelphia.” 

“TI am contemplating a trip to Philadelphia,” said the Har- 
vester, “but I believe I shall not be ready for, say a month yet. I 
have a theory which dies hard. If it does not work out the coming 
month, I will go, perhaps, but not now. Let us see how many 
kinds of a fool I make of myself in New York before I attempt the 
Quakers.” 

Almost to the city, the doctor smiled at the Harvester: “David, 
where did you get your infernal assurance?” he asked. 

“In the woods,” answered the Harvester placidly. “In doing 
clean work. With my fingers in the muck, with life literally teem- 
ing and boiling in sound and action, around, above, and beneath 
me, a right estimate of my place and province comes naturally. 
In daily handling stores on which humanity depends, I go even 
deeper than you surgeons and physicians. You are powerless un- 
less I reinforce your work with drugs on which you can rely. I do 
clean, honest work. I know its proper place and value to the 
world. That is why I called what I have to say, “The Man in the 
Background.’ There is no reason why I should shiver and shrink 
at meeting and explaining my work to my fellows. Every man has 
his vocation, and some of you in the limelight would cut a sorry 
figure if the man in the background should fail you at the critical 
moment. Don’t worry about me, Doc. I am all serene. You won't 
find I possess either nerves or fear. “Be sure you are right, and then 
go ahead,’ is my law.” 

“Well I'll be confounded!” said the doctor. 








THE MAN AN’ THE BAGKGROUND 347 


In a large hall, peopled with thousands of medical men, the 
name of the Harvester was called the following day and his sub- 
ject was announced. He arose in his place and began to talk. 

“Take the platform,” roared a hundred throats. 

The Harvester hesitated. 

“You must, David,” whispered Carey. 

The Harvester made his way forward, was guided through a 
side door, and a second later calmly walked down the big stage 
to the front, and stood at ease looking over his audience, as if to 
gauge its size and the pitch to which he should raise his voice. His 
lean frame loomed every inch of his six feet, his broad shoulders 
were square, his clean shaven face alert and afire. 

“This scarcely seems compatible with my subject,” he re- 
marked casually. “I certainly appear very much in the foreground 
just at present, but perhaps that is quite as well. It may be time 
that I assert myself. I doubt if there is a man among you who has 
not handled my products more or less; you may enjoy learning 
where and how they are prepared, and understanding the man- 
ner in which my work merges with yours. I think perhaps the first 
thing is to paint you as good a word picture as I can of my 
geographical location.” 

Then the Harvester named latitude and longitude and degrees 
of temperature. He described the lake, the marsh, the wooded 
hill, the swale, and open sunny fields. He spoke of water, soil, 
shade, and geographical conditions. ‘Here I was born,” he said, 
“on land owned by my father and grandfather before me, and 
previous to them, by the Indians. My male ancestors, so far as I 
can trace them, were men of the woods, hunters, trappers, herb 
gatherers. My mother was from the country, educated for a 
teacher. She had the most inexorable will of any woman I ever 
have known. From my father I inherited my love for muck on 
my boots, resin in my nostrils, the long trail, the camp fire, forest 
sounds and silences in my soul. From my mother I learned to read 
good books, to study subjects that puzzled me, to tell the truth, to 
keep my soul and body clean, and to pursue with courage the 
thing to which I set my hand. 

“There was not money enough to educate me as she would; 


348 THE HARVESTER 


together we learned to find it in the forest. In early days we sold 
ferns and wild flowers to city people, harvested the sap of the 
maples in spring, and the nut crop of the fall. Later, as we wanted 
more, we trapped for skins, and collected herbs for the drug 
stores. This opened to me a field I was peculiarly fitted to enter. 
I knew woodcraft instinctively, I had the location of every herb, 
root, bark, and seed that will endure my climate; I had the deter- 
mination to stick to my job, the right books to assist me, and my 
mother’s invincible will power to uphold me where I wavered. 
“As I look into your faces, men, I am struck with the astound- 
ing thought that some woman bore the cold sweat and pain of 
labour to give life to each of you. I hope few of you prolonged 
that agony as I did. It was in the heart of my mother to make 
me physically clean. To that end she sent me daily into the lake, 
so long as it was not ice covered, and put me at exercises intended 
to bring full strength to every sinew and fibre of my body. It was 
in her heart to make me morally clean, so she took me to nature 
and drilled me in its forces and its methods of reproducing life 
according to the law. Her work was good to a point that all men 
will recognize. From there on, for a few years, she held me, not 
because I was man enough to stand, but because she was woman 
enough to support me. Without her no doubt I would have 
broken the oath I took; with her I won the victory and reached 
years of manhood and self-control as she would have had me. ‘The 
struggle wore her out at half a lifetime, but as a tribute to her 
memory I cannot face a body of men having your opportunities 
without telling you that what was possible to her and to me is 
possible to all mothers and men. If she is above and hears me 
perhaps it will recompense some of her shortened years if she 
knows I am pleading with you, as men having the greatest influ- 
ence of any living, to tell and to teach the young that a clean life 
is possible to them. The next time any of you are called upon to 
address a body of men tell them to learn for themselves and to 
teach their sons, and to hold them at the critical hour, even by 
sweat and blood, to a clean life; for in this way only can feeble- 
minded homes, almshouses, and the scarlet woman be abolished. 
In this way only can men arise to full physical and mental force, 








THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 349 


and become the fathers of a race to whom the struggle for clean 
manhood will not be the battle it is with us. 

“By the distorted faces, by the misshapen bodies, by marks of 
degeneracy, recognizable to your practised eyes everywhere on 
the streets, by the agony of the mother who bore you, and later 
wept over you, I conjure you men to live up to your high and holy 
privilege, and tell all men that they can be clean, if they will. 
This in memory of the mother who shortened her days to make 
me a moral man. And if any among you is the craven to plead 
immorality as a safeguard to health, I ask, what about the health 
of the women you sacrifice to shield your precious bodies, and I 
offer my own as the best possible refutation of that cowardly lie. I 
never have been ill a moment in all my life, and strength never 
has failed me for work to which I set my hand. 

“The rapidly decreasing supply of drugs and the adulterated 
importations early taught me that the day was coming when it 
would be an absolute necessity to raise our home supplies. So, 
while yet in my teens, I began collecting from the fields and 
woods for miles around such medicinal stuff as grew in my fa- 
ther’s fields, marsh, and woods, and planting more wherever I 
found anything growing naturally in its prime. I merely enlarged 
nature’s beds and preserved their natural condition. As the plants 
spread and the harvest increased, I built a dry-house on scientific 
principles, a large storeroom, and later a laboratory in which I 
have been learning to prepare some of my crude material for the 
market, combining ideas of my own in remedies, and at last pro- 
ducing one your president has just indicated that I come to sub- 
mit to you as a final resort in certain conditions. 

“My operations now have spread to close six hundred acres of 
almost solid medicinal growth, including a little lake, around the 
shores of which flourish a quadruple setting of water-loving 
herbs.” 

Occasionally he shifted his position or easily walked across the 
platform and faced his audience from a different direction. His 
voice was strong, deep, and rang clearly and earnestly. His audi- 
ence sat on the front edge of their chairs, and listened to some- 
thing new, with mouths half agape. A few times Carey turned 


350 THE HARVESTER 


from the speaker to face the audience. He agonized in his heart 
that it was a closed session, that his wife was not there to hear, 
and that the Girl was missing it. 

By the bent backs and flying fingers of the reporters at their 
table in front he could see that to-morrow the world would read 
the Harvester’s speech; and if it were true that the little mother 
had shortened her days to produce him, she had done earth a 
service for which many generations would call her blessed. For 
the doctor could look ahead, and he knew that this man would 
not escape. The call for him and his unimpeachable truth would 
come from everywhere, and his utterances would carry as far as 
newspapers and magazines were circulated. ‘The good he would 
do would be past estimation. 

‘The Harvester continued. He was describing the most delicate 
and difficult of herbs to secure. He was telling how they could be 
raised, prepared, kept, and compounded. He was discussing dis- 
eases that did not readily yield to treatment, pointing out what 
drugs were customarily employed and offering, if any of them had 
such cases, and would send to him, to forward samples of un- 
adulterated stuff sufficient for a test comparison with what they 
were using. He was walking serenely and surely into the heart of 
every man before him. 

Just at the point where it was the psychological time to close, 
he stopped, standing a long instant facing them, then he asked: 
‘Did any man among you ever see the woman to whom he had 
given a strong man’s first passion of love, slowly dying before 
him?” 

One breathless instant he waited, then continued: “Gentle- 
men, I recently saw this in my own case. For days it was coming, 
so at night I shut myself in my laboratory, and from the very 
essence of the purest of my self-compounded drugs I distilled a 
stimulant into which I put a touch of heart remedy, a brace for 
weakening nerves, a vitalization of sluggish blood. As I worked, 
I thought in that thought which embodied the essence of prayer, 
so when my day and my hour came, and a man who has been 
the president of your honourable body, and is known to all of 
you, said it was death, I took this combination that I now present 





THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND 351] 


to you, and with the help of the Almighty and a woman above 
the price of rubies, I kept breath in the girl I love. To-day she is 
at full tide of womanhood. As a thank offering, the formula is 
yours. Test it as you will. Use it if you find it good. Gentlemen, I 
thank you!” 

Carey sank in his chair, watching the Harvester cross the stage. 
As he disappeared the tumult began, and it lasted until the presi- 
dent arose and brought him back to make another bow. In an 
immaculate dress suit the Harvester sat that night on the right of 
the gray-haired president and responded to the toast, “The Har- 
vester of the Woods.” Then the reporters carried him away to be 
photographed, and to show him the gay sights of New York. 

In the train the following day, speeding west, he said to Doctor 
Carey: “I feel as the old woman of Mother Goose who said: 
‘Lawk-a-mercy on us, can this be really 1?” 

“You just bet it is!” cried the doctor. “And you have cut out 
work for yourself in good shape.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that this is a beginning. You will be called upon to 
speak again and again.” 

“The point is, do you honestly think I helped any?” 

“You did inestimable good. It only can help men to hear plain 
truth that is personal experience. As for that dope of yours, it will 
come closer raising the dead than anything I ever saw. Next case 
I see slipping, after I’ve done my best, I’m going to try it out for 
myself.” 

“All right! Phone me and I’ll bring some fresh and help you.” 

At Buffalo the doctor left the car to buy a paper. As he had 
expected the portrait and speech of the Harvester were featured. 
The reporters had been gracious. They had done all that was just 
to a great event, then allowed themselves some latitude. He im- 
mediately mailed the paper to the Girl, and at Cleveland bought. 
another for himself. When he showed it to the Harvester, as he 
glanced at it he observed: “Do I appear like that?” Then he con-. 
tinued talking with a man he had met who interested him. 


CHAP LER .% Al 


The Coming of the Bluebird 


Tue Harvester stopped at the mail box on his way home; among 
the mass of matter it contained was something from the Girl. It 
was a scrap as long as his least finger and three times as wide; by 
the postmark it had lain four days in the box. On opening it, he 
found only her card with a line written across it, but the man 
went up the hill and into the cabin as if a cyclone were driving 
him, for he read: ‘‘Has your bluebird come?” 

He threw his travelling bag on the floor, ran to the telephone, 
and called the station. ‘““Take this message,”’ he said. “Mrs. David 
Langston, care of Alexander Herron, 5770 Chestnut Street, 
Philadelphia. Found note after four days’ absence. Bluebird long 
past due. The fairies have told it that my fate hereafter lies in 
your hands. As always. David.” 

The Harvester turned from the instrument and bent to em- 
brace Belshazzar, leaping in ecstasy beside him. | 

‘Understand that, Bel?” he asked. “I don’t know but it means 
something. Maybe it doesn’t—not a thing! And again, there is a 
chance—only the merest possibility—that it does. We'll risk it, 
Bel, and to begin on I have nailed it as hard as I knew how. Next, 
we will clean the house—until it shines; then we will fill the cup- 
board, so if anything does happen we won't be caught napping. 
Yes, boy, we will take the chance! We can’t be any worse disap- 
pointed than we have been before and survived it. Come along!” 

He picked up the bag and arranged its contents, carefully 





THE GOMING OF THE BLUEBIRD 353 


brushed and folded, on his shelves and in his closet. Then he re- 
moved the travelling suit, donned the old brown clothes and went 
to the barn to see that his creatures had been cared for properly. 
Early the following morning he awoke and after feeding and 
breakfasting instead of going to harvest spice brush and alder he 
stretched a line and hung the bedding from room after room to 
air and sun. He swept, dusted, and washed windows, made beds, 
and lastly polished the floors throughout the cabin. He set every- 
thing in order, then as a finishing touch, filled vases, pitchers, and 
bowls with the bloom of red bud and silky willow catkins. He 
searched the south bank, but there was not a violet, even in the 
most exposed places. The next day he worked scrubbing the 
porches, straightening the lawn and hedges, even sweeping the 
driveway to the bridge clear of wind-whirled leaves and straw. 
He scouted around the dry-house and laboratory, then spent 
several extra hours on the barn so that when evening came every- 
thing was in perfect order. Then he dressed, ate his supper and 
drove to the city. 

He stopped at the mail box, but there was nothing from the 
Girl. The Harvester did not know whether he was sorry or glad. 
A letter might have said the same thing. Nothing meant a de- 
lightful possibility; between the two he preferred the latter. He 
whistled or sang as he drove to Onabasha, while Belshazzar 
looked at him with mystified eyes, for this was not the master he 
had known of late. He did not recognize the dress or the manner, 
but his dog heart was sympathetic to the man’s every mood, for 
he remembered times when a drive down the levee always had 
been like this. To-night the Harvester’s tongue was loosened and 
he talked in the old way. 

“Only four words, Bel,” he said. “And as I remarked before, 
they may mean the most wonderful thing on earth, and possibly 
nothing at all. But it is in the heart of man to hope, Bel, so we are 
going to live royally for a week or two, merely on hope, old boy. 
If anything should happen, we are ready, rooms shining, beds 
fresh, fireplaces filled and waiting a match, ice chest cool, and 
when we get back it will be stored. Also a secret, Bel: we are 
going to a florist and a fruit store. While we are at it, we will do 


354 THE HARVESTER 


the thing right; but we will stay away from Doc, until we are sure 
of something. He means well, but we don’t like to be pitied, do 
we, Bel? Our friends don’t manage their eyes and voices very well 
these days. Never mind! Our time will come yet. The bluebird 
will not fail us, but never before has it been so late.” 

On his return he filled the pantry shelves with packages, stored 
the ice chest, and set a basket of delicious fruit on the dining 
table. Two boxes remained. He opened the larger one, taking 
from it an armload of white lilies that he carried up the hill and 
divided between the mounds under the oak. Then he uncovered 
his head, and standing at the foot of them he looked among the 
boughs of the big tree, listening intently. After a time a soft, warm 
wind, catkin-scented, crept from the lake, and began a murmur 
among the clusters of brown leaves clinging to the branches. 

“Mother,” said the Harvester, “were you with me? Did I do it 
right? Did I tell them what you would have had me say for the 
boys? Are you glad now you held me to the narrow way? Do you 
want me to go before men if I am asked, as Doc says I will be, 
and tell them that the only way to abolish pain is for them to 
begin at the foundation by living clean lives? I don’t know if I 
did any good, but they listened to me. Anyway, I did the best I 
knew. But that isn’t strange; you ground it into me to do that 
every day, until it is almost an instinct. Mother, dear, can you tell 
me about the bluebird? Is that softest little rustle of all your voice? 
and does it say ‘hope?’ I think so, and I thank you for the word.” 

The man’s gaze dropped to earth. 

“And you other mother,” he said, “have you any message for 
me? Up where you are can you sweep the world with understand- 
ing eyes and tell me why my bluebird does not come? Does it know 
that this year your child and not chance must settle my fate? Gan 
you look across space and see if she is even thinking of me? But I 
know that! She had to be thinking of me when she wrote that 
line. Rather can you tell me—will she come? Do you think I am 
man enough to be trusted with her future, if she does? One thing 
I promise you: if such joy ever comes to me, I will know how to 
meet it gently, thankfully, tenderly, please God. Good night, little 
women. I hope you are sleeping well - 











Dee COMING OFA THE BLUEBIRD 355 


He turned and went down the hill, entered the cabin and took 
from the other box a mass of Parma violets. He put these in the 
pink bowl, placing it on the table beside the Girl’s bed. He stood 
for a time, then began pulling single flowers from the bowl, drop- 
ping them over the pillow and snowy spread. 

“God, how I love her!” he whispered softly. 

At last he went out and closed the door. He was tired and soon 
fell asleep with the night breeze stirring his hair, while the glam- 
our of moonlight flooding the lake touched his face. Clearly it 
etched the strong, manly features, the fine brow and chin, and 
painted in unusual tenderness the soft lines around the mouth. 
The little owl wavered its love story, a few frogs were piping; the 
Harvester lay breathing the perfumed spring air deeply and 
evenly. Near midnight Belshazzar awakened him by arising from 
the bedside and walking to the door. 

“What is it, Bel?” inquired the Harvester. 

The dog whined softly. The man turned his head toward the 
lake. A ray of red light touched the opposite embankment, then 
came wavering across the surface. The Harvester sat up. Two big, 
flaming eyes were creeping up the levee. 

“That,” said the Harvester, “might be Doc coming for me to 
help him try out my bottled sunshine, or it might be my blue- 
bird.” 

He tossed back the cover, swung his feet to the floor, setting 
each in a slipper beside the bed, and arose, dressing as he started 
for the door. As he opened the screen and stepped on the veranda 
a passenger car from the city stopped. The Harvester went down 
the walk to meet it. His heart turned over when he saw a wom- 
an’s hand on the door. 

“Permit me,” he said, taking the handle and bringing it back 
with a sweep. Astall form arose, bent forward, then descended to 
the step. The full flare of moonlight fell on the glowing face of 
the Girl. 

“Harvester, is it you?” she asked. 

“Yes,” gasped the man. 

Two hands came fluttering out; he had presence of mind to 
step in range so that they rested on his shoulders. 


356 THE HARVESTER 


“Has the bluebird come?” 

“Not yet!” 

“Then I am not too late?” 

“Never too late to come to me, Ruth.” 

“T am welcome?” 

“TI have no words to tell you how welcome.” 

She swayed forward. The Harvester tried to reach her lips, but 
they brushed his cheek and touched his ear. 

“T have brought one more kiss I want to try,’ she whispered. 

The Harvester crushed her in his arms until he frightened him- 
self for fear he had hurt her, murmuring an ecstasy of indistinct 
love words to her. Presently her feet touched the ground, she drew 
away from him. 

“Harvester,” she whispered, “I couldn’t wait any longer; in- 
deed I could not: but I couldn’t leave grandfather and grand- 
mother, and I didn’t know what in the world to do, so I just 
brought them along. Are they welcome?” 

“Aside from you, I would rather have them than any people 
on earth,” said the Harvester. 

There were two sounds in the car; one was an approving mur- 
mur; the other an undeniable snort. The Harvester felt the re- 
assuring pressure of the Girl’s hand. 

“Please, Ruth,” he said, “go turn on the light so that I can see 
to help grandmother.” 

A foot stamped before the front seat. “Madam Herron, if you 
please!” cried an acrid voice. 

‘“¢ ‘Madam Herron,’ ” said the Harvester gently, as he set a foot 
on the step, reached in and bodily picked up a little old lady, 
starting up the walk with her in his arms. 

“Careful there, sir!” roared a voice after him. 

The Harvester could feel the quake of the laughing woman, so 
he smiled broadly as he entered the cabin, placing her in a large 
chair before the fire. Then he wheeled and ran back to the car, 
reaching.it as the man was making an effort to descend. It could 
be seen that he had been tall, before time and sorrow had bent 
him, while keen eyes gleamed below shaggy white brows from 
under his hat brim. He had a white moustache, and his hair was 
snowy. 


TRE COMING (OM THE IBWLUEBIRD 557 


‘Allow me,” said the Harvester, reaching a hand. 

“Tf you touch me I will cane you,” said Mr. Alexander Herron. 

There was nothing to do but step back. The cane, wheel, and a 
long coat skirt interfering, the old man fell headlong; only quick 
hands saved him a severe jolt and bruises. He stood glaring in the 
moonlight while his hat was restored. 

“Tf you run your car to the curve you can back toward the 
south and turn easily,’ said the Harvester to the driver. As the 
automobile passed them he offered his arm. ““May I show you to 
the fire? These spring nights are chilly.” 

“ “Chilly! Demnition cold is what they are! I’m frozen to the 
bone! This will be the end of us both! Dragging people of our 
age around at this hour of night. Of all the accursed stubborn- 
ness!” 

“There are three low steps,”’ said the Harvester, “now a straight 
stretch of walk, now two steps; there you are on the level. Here 
is an easy chair. It would be better to leave on your coat, until I 
light the fire.” 

He knelt to scratch a match, so instantly a flame sprang from 
the heap of dry kindling, and began to wrap around the big logs. 

“How pretty!” exclaimed a soft voice. 

“Kind of a hunting lodge in the wilds, is it?” growled a rough 
one. “Marcella, you will take your death here!” 

“Tm sure I feel no exposure. Really, Alexander, if I had passed 
away every time you have prophesied that I would in the past 
twenty years you’d have the largest private cemetery in existence. 
If you would not be so pessimistic I could quite enjoy the trip. 
It’s so long since I’ve ridden in the cars.” 

“Of all the abandoned places! And for you to be here, after 
your years in bed!” 

“But I’m not nearly so tired as I am at home, Alexander, 
truly.” 

“Let me help you, grandfather,” offered the Girl. 

She went to him, taking his hat and stick. 

“Leave me my cane,” he cried. “Any instant that beast may 
attack some of us.” 

The Girl laughed merrily. 


358 THE HARVESTER 


“Why grandfather!” she chided, “Bel is the finest dog you ever 
knew, he is my best friend here. By the hour he has protected me; 
he is gentle as a kitten. He’s crazy over my coming home.” 

She knelt on the floor, putting her arms around the dog’s neck, 
while the delighted brute quivered with the joy of her caress and 
the sound of her loved voice. 

“Ruthie!” cautioned the gentle lady. 

“Put that cur out of doors, where animals belong,” roared the 
old man, lifting his stick. 

“Careful!’? warned the grave voice of the Harvester. 

“T thought you said he was gentle as a kitten!” 

“Grandfather, I said that,” cried the Girl. 

“Well wasn’t it the truth?” 

“You can see how he loves me. Didn’t I ever tell you that Bel 
made the first friendly overture I ever received in this part of the 
country? He’s watched me by the day, even while I slept.” 

“Then what’s all this infernal fuss about?” 

“Try striking him, if you want to find out,” explained the Har- 
vester. “You see, Belshazzar and I are accustomed to living here 
alone and very quietly. He is excited over the Girl’s return, be- 
cause she is his friend, and he has not forgotten her. Then this is 
the first time in his life he ever heard an irritable voice from a 
visitor Or saw a Cane, so it angers him. He is perfectly safe to 
guard a baby, if he is gently treated, but he is a sure throat hold to 
a stranger who bespeaks him roughly or attempts to strike. He 
would be of no use as a guard to valuable property while I sleep 
if he were otherwise. Bel, come here! Lie still.” 

The dog sank to the floor beside the Harvester, but his sharp 
eyes followed the Girl, while the hair arose on his neck at every 
rasping note of the old man’s voice. 

“YT wouldn’t give such a creature house room for a minute,” 
insisted the guest. 

“Wait until you see him work and become acquainted with 
him, and you will change that verdict,” prophesied the Harvester. 

“J never was known to change an opinion. Never, sir! Never!” 
cried the testy voice. 

‘How unfortunate!” remarked the Harvester suavely. 





oe COMEBEN G ICR sTHE *BiL UEBIRD 359 


“Explain yourself! Explain yourself, sir!” 

“There never has been, there never will be, a man on this 
earth,” said the Harvester, “wholly free from mistakes. Are you 
warm now?” He turned to the little lady, cutting off a reply with 
his question. 

“Nice and warm and very sleepy,” she said. 

‘What may I bring you for a light lunch before you go to 
bed?” 

“Oh, could I have a bite of something?” 

“If only I am fortunate enough to have anything you will care 
for. What about a bowl of hot milk and a slice of toast?” 

“Why I think that would be just the thing!” 

“Excuse me,” said the Harvester, rising. He went to the 
kitchen, where they could hear him moving around. 

“I wish the big brute would take his beast along,” growled Mr. 
Herron. 

“Come, Bel,” ordered the Girl. “Let’s go to the kitchen.” 

The dog instantly arose and followed her. 

“What can I do to help?” she asked as they reached the door. 

“Remain where you won’t dazzle my eyes,” said the Harvester, 
“until I help the gentle lady and the gentle man to bed.” 

Presently he came with a white cloth, two spoons, and a plate 
of bread. He spread the cloth on the table, laid the spoons on it, 
then opening the little cupboard, took out a long toasting fork, 
and sticking it into a slice of bread, he held it over the coals. 
When it grew golden brown he lifted the table beside the chair, 
and brought a bowl of scalded milk. 

“Marcella, that stuff will be too smoky for you! Your stomach 
will rebel at it.” 

“Grandfather, there will not be a suspicion of odour,” said the 
Girl. “I have had it that way often.” 

“Then no wonder you came from this place looking like a 
picked crane, if that is a sample of what you were fed on!” 

The face of the Harvester grew redder than the heat of the fire 
necessitated, but at the ringing laugh of the Girl he set his teeth 
and went on toasting bread. Grandmother crumbled some in the 
milk and picking up the spoon tested the combination. She was 
very hungry, while it was good. She began eating with relish. 


360 THE HARVESTER 


“Alexander, you will be the loser if you don’t have some of 
this,” she said. “‘It’s just delicious!” 

“Maybe smoked spoon victuals are proper for invalid women,” 
he retorted, “but they are mighty thin diet for a hardy man.” 

“What about a couple of eggs and some beef extract?” 

“Sounds more sensible by a long shot.” 

“Ruth, you make this toast,” said the Harvester as he dis- 
appeared. 

Presently he placed before his guest a couple of eggs poached in 
milk, a steaming bowl of beef juice, and a plate of toast. For one 
instant the Harvester thought this was going into the fire, the 
next a slice was picked up and smelled testily. The Girl sat on her 
erandfather’s chair arm, and breaking a morsel of toast dipped it 
into the broth and tasted it. 

“Oh but that is good!” she cried. “Why haven’t I some also? 
Am I supposed to have no ‘tummy?’ ” 

“Your turn next,” said the Harvester, as he again gave oe the 
fork and went to the kitchen. 

When he returned to serve the Girl he found her grandfather 
eating heartily. 

“Why I think this is fun,” said the gentle lady. “I haven’t had 
such a fine time in ages. I love the heat of the flame on my body 
while things taste so good. I could go to sleep without any nar- 
cotic, right now.” 

At her knee the Harvester knelt on the hearth with his toasting 
fork. She leaned forward, running her fingers through his hair. 
“You’re a braw laddie,” she said. ‘““Now I see why Ruthie would 
come.” 

The Harvester took the frail hand, kissing it. ““Thank you!” he 
returned. 

“Mush!” exploded the grizzled man in the rear. 

When no one wanted more food the Harvester stacked and 
carried away the dishes, swept the hearth, and replaced the 
toaster. 

“Ruth and I often lunched this way last fall,” he said. 

“We liked it for a change.” 

“Alexander, have you noticed?” asked the little woman as she 





THE COMING OF THE BLUEBIRD 361 


lifted wet eyes to a beautiful portrait of her daughter beside the 
chimney. 

“D’ye think I’m blind? Saw it as I entered the door. Poor 
taste! Very! Brown may match the rug and woodwork, but it’s 
a wretched colour for a young girl. Should be pink and white 
with a gold frame.” 

“That would be beautiful,” agreed the Harvester. “We must 
have one that way. This is only an enlargement from an old 
photograph.” 

“We have a number of very handsome likenesses. Which one 
can you spare Ruth, Marcella?” 

“The one she likes best,” said the lady promptly. 

“And the other is your mother, no doubt. What a girlish, beau- 
tiful face!” 

“Wonderfully fine!” growled a gruff old voice tinctured with 
tears; then the Harvester began to see light. 

The old man arose. “Ruthie, help your grandmother to bed,” 
he said. ‘‘And you, sir, have the goodness to walk a few steps with 
me.” 

‘The Harvester sprang up, brought Mr. Herron his coat, then 
hat, and held the door. The girl brushed past him. 

‘To the oak,” she whispered. 

They went into the night; without a word the Harvester took 
his guest’s arm, guiding him up the hill. When they reached the 
two mounds the moon shining between the branches touched 
the lily faces with holy whiteness. 

“She sleeps there,” said the Harvester, indicating the place. 
‘Then he turned, going down the path a short distance and wait- 
ing until he feared the night air would chill the broken old man. 
“You can see better to-morrow,” he said as he touched the shaking 
figure, assisting it to arise. 

“Your work?” Mr. Alexander Herron touched the lilies with 
his walking stick. 

The Harvester assented. 

“Do you mind if I carry one to Marcella?” 

The Harvester trembled as he stooped to select the largest and 
whitest; with sudden illumination, he fully understood. He helped 


362 THE HARVESTER 


the tottering old man to the cabin, where he sat silently before 
the fireplace softly touching the lily face with his lips. 

“I have put grandmother in my bed, tucked her in warmly, 
and she says it is soft and fine,” laughed the Girl, coming to them. 
“Now you go before she falls asleep, and I hope you will rest 
well.” 

She bent, kissing him. The Harvester held the door. 

“Can I be of any service?” he inquired. 

“No, ’'m no helpless child.” 

“Then to my best wishes for a sound sleep the remainder of 
the night, I will add this,” said the Harvester—‘“You may rest 
in peace concerning your dear girl. I sympathize with your anx- 
iety. Good night!” 

Alexander Herron threw out his hands in protest. 

“I wouldn’t mind admitting that you are a gentleman in a 
month or two,” he said, “‘but it’s a demnation humiliation to have 
it literally wrung from me to-night!” 

He banged the door in the face of the amazed Harvester, who 
turned to the Girl as she leaned against the mantel. He stood 
absorbing the glowing picture of beauty and health that she 
made. She had removed her travelling dress and shoes, she was 
draped in a fleecy white wool kimono and wearing night slippers. 
Her hair hung in two big braids as it had during her illness. She 
was his sick girl again in costume, but radiant health glowed on 
her lovely face. The Harvester touched a match to a few candles, 
then turned out the acetylene lights. He stood before her. 

“Now, bluebird,” he said gently. “Ruth, you always know 
where to find me, if you will look at your feet. I thought I loved 
you all in my power when you went, but absence has taught its 
lessons. One is that I can grow to love you more every day I live, 
and the other that I probably trifled with the highest gift you had 
to offer, when I sent you away. I may have been right; Granny 
and Doc think I was wrong. You know the answer. You said there 
was another kiss for me. Ruth, is it the same or a different one?” 

“It is different. Quite, quite different!” 

“And when?” The Harvester stretched out longing arms. The 
Girl stepped back. 





THE COMING OF THE BLUEBIRD 363 


“I don’t know,” she said. “I had it when I started, but I lost 
it on the way.” 

The Harvester staggered under the disappointment. 

“Ruth, this has gone far enough that you wouldn’t play with 
me, merely for the sake of seeing me suffer, would you?” 

“No!” cried the Girl. “No! I mean it! I knew just what I 
wanted to say when I started; but we had to take grandmother 
out of bed. She wouldn’t allow me to leave her, and I wouldn’t 
Stay away from you any longer. She fainted when we put her on 
the car and grandfather went wild. He almost killed the porters, 
while he raved at me. He said my mother had ruined their lives; 
now I would be their death. I got so frightened I had a nervous 
chill and I’m so afraid she will grow worse x 

“You poor child!” shuddered the Harvester. “I see! I under- 
stand! What you need is quiet and a good rest.” 

He placed her in a big easy chair, then sitting on the hearth 
rug he leaned against her knee and said: “Now tell me, unless 
you are so tired that you should go to bed.” 

“I couldn’t possibly sleep until I have told you,” said the Girl. 

“If you’re merciful, cut it short!”’ implored the Harvester. 

“I think it begins,” she said slowly, ‘““when I went because you 
sent me and [I didn’t want to go. Of course, as soon as I saw 
grandfather and grandmother, heard them talk, and understood 
what their lives had been, and what might have been, why there 
was only one thing to do, as I could see it, and that was to com- 
pensate their agony the best I could. I think I have, David. I 
really think I have made them almost happy. But I told them 
all any one could tell about you in the start, and from the first 
grandmother would have been on your side; but you see how 
grandfather is, and he was absolutely determined that I should 
live with them, in their home, all their lives. He thought the best 
way to accomplish that would be to separate me from you and 
marry me to the son of his partner. 

“There are rooms packed with the lovely things they bought 
me, David, and everything was as I wrote you. Some of the people 
who came were wonderful, so gracious and beautiful, I loved 
them. ‘They took me places where there were pictures, plays, and 





364. THE HARVESTER 


lovely parties, so I studied hard to learn some music, to dance, 
ride and other things they wanted me to do, and to read good 
books, and to learn to meet people with graciousness to equal 
theirs, and all of it. Every day I grew stronger and met more 
people, while there were different places to go, and always, when 
anything was to be done, up popped Mr. Herbert Kennedy saying 
and doing exactly the right thing, and he could be extremely nice, 
David.” 

“T haven’t a doubt!” said the Harvester, laying hold of her 
kimono. 

‘“‘And he popped up so much that at last I saw he was either 
pretending or else he really was growing very fond of me, so one 
day when we were alone I told him about you, to make him see 
that he must not. He laughed at me, and said exactly what you 
did, that I didn’t love you at all, that it was gratitude, that it was 
the affection of a child. He talked for hours about how grand- 
father and grandmother had suffered, how it was my duty to live 
with them and give you up, even if I cared greatly for you; but 
he said what I felt was not love. Then he tried to tell me what he 
thought love was, and I could see very clearly that if it was like 
that, I didn’t love you, but I came a whole world closer it than 
loving him, and I told him so. He laughed again and said I was 
mistaken, that he was going to teach me what real love was, then 
I could not be driven back to you. After that, everybody and 
everything just pushed me toward him with both hands, except 
one person. She was a young married woman. I met her at the 
very first. She was the only real friend I ever had, and at last, the 
latter part of February, when things were the very worst, I told 
her. I told her every single thing. She was on your side. She said 
you were twice the man Herbert Kennedy was, and as soon as 
I found I could talk to her about you, I began going there and 
staying as long as I could, just to talk and to play with her baby. 

‘Her husband was a splendid young fellow, and I grew very 
fond of him. I knew she had told him, because he suddenly began 
talking to me in the kindest way, and everything he said seemed 
to be what I most wanted to hear. I got along fairly well until 
hints of spring began to come; then I would wonder about my 








THE COMING OF THE BLUEBIRD 365 


hedge, my gold garden, if the ice were off the lake, about my boat 
and horse, and I wanted my room, and oh, David, most of all I 
wanted you! Just you! Not because you could give me anything 
to compare in richness with what they could, not because this 
home was the best I’d ever known except theirs, not for any 
reason at all only just that I wanted to see your face, hear your 
voice, and have you pick me up and take me in your arms when 
I was tired. That was when I almost quit writing. I couldn’t say 
what I wanted to, and I wouldn’t write trivial things, so I went 
on day after day just groping.” 

“And you killed me alive,” said the Harvester. 

“T was afraid of that, but I couldn’t write. I just couldn’t! It 
was ten days ago that I thought of the bluebird’s coming this year 
and what it would mean to you, and that killed me, Man! It just 
hurt my heart until it ached, to know that you were out here 
alone. That night I couldn’t sleep, because I was thinking of you, 
and it came to me that if I had your lips then I could give you a 
much, much better kiss than the last, so when it was light I wrote 
that line. 

“Nearly a week later I got your answer early in the morning, 
and it almost drove me wild. I took it and went for the day with 
May, and I told her. She took me upstairs, and we talked it over. 
Before I left she made me promise that I would write you and ex- 
plain how I felt, and ask you what you thought. She wanted you 
to come there and see if you couldn’t make them at least respect 
you. I know I was crying, and she was bathing the baby. She 
went to bring something she had forgotten,:so she gave him to me 
to hold, just his little naked body. He stood on my lap and mauled 
my face, pulled my hair, hugged me with his stout arms and 
kissed me big, soft, wet kisses; then something sprang to life in 
my heart that never before had been there. I just cried all over 
him and held him fast, and I couldn’t give him up when she 
came back. I saw why I’d wanted a big doll all my life, right then; 
and oh, dear! the doll you sent was beautiful, but, David, did you 
ever hold a little, living child in your arms like that?” 

“T never did,” said the Harvester huskily. 


366 THE HARVESTER 


He looked at her face and saw the tears rolling, but he could 
say no more, so he leaned his head against her knee, and finding 
one of her hands he drew it to his lips. 

“Tt is wonderful,” said the Girl softly. “It awakens something 
in your heart that makes it all soft and tender, and you feel an 
awful responsibility, too. Grandmother had them telephone at 
last, so May helped me bathe my face and fix my hat. When we 
went to the carriage Mr. Kennedy was there to take me home. 
We went past grandmother’s florist to get her some violets— 
David, she is sleeping under yours, with just a few touching her 
lips. Oh it was lovely of you to get them; your fairies must have 
told you! She has them every day, and one of the objections she 
made to coming here was that she couldn’t do without them in 
winter, and she found some on her pillow the very first thing. 
David, you are wonderful! And grandfather with his lily! I know 
where he found that! I knew instantly. Ah, there are fairies who 
tell you, because you deserve to know.” 

The Girl bent and slipping her arm around his neck hugged 
him tight an instant; then she continued unsteadily: “While he 
was in the shop—Harvester, this is like your wildest dream, but 
it’s truest truth—a boy came down the walk crying papers, and 
as I live, he called your name. I knew it had to be you because 
he said: ‘First drug farm in America! Wonderful medicine con- 
tributed to the cause of science! David Langston honoured by 
National Medical Association!’ I stood in the carriage and 
screamed: “Boy! Boy!’ until the coachman thought I had lost my 
senses. He whistled and got me the paper. I was shaking so I asked 
him how to find anything you wanted quickly, so he pointed the 
column where events are listed; when I found the third page 
there was your face so splendidly reproduced, you seemed so fine 
and noble to me I forgot about the dress suit and the badge in 
your buttonhole, or to wonder when or how or why it could have 
happened. I just sat there shouting in my soul, ‘David! David! 
Medicine Man! Harvester Man!’ again and again. 

“I don’t know what I said to Mr. Kennedy or how I got to 
my room. I scanned it by the column, at last I got to paragraphs, 
and finally 1 read all the sentences. David, I kissed that news- 


THE COMING OF THE BLUEBIRD 367 


paper face a hundred times, and if you could have had those, 
Man, I think you would have said they were right. David, there 
is nothing to cry over!” 

“I’m not!” said the Harvester, wiping the splashes from her 
hand. “But Ruth, forget what I said about being brief. I didn’t 
realize what was coming. I should have said, if you’ve any mercy 
at all, go slowly! This is the greatest thing that ever happened or 
ever will happen to me. See that you don’t leave out one word 
of it.” 

“TI told you I had to tell you first,” said the Girl. 

“I understand now,” said the Harvester, his head against her 
knee while he pressed her hand to his lips. “I see! Your coming 
couldn’t be perfect without knowing this first. Go on, dear heart, 
and slowly! You owe me every word.” 

“When I had it all absorbed, I carried the paper to the library 
and said: ‘Grandfather, such a wonderful thing has happened. 
A man has had a new idea; he has done a unique work that the 
whole world is going to recognize. He has stood before men and 
made a speech that few, oh so few, could make honestly, and he 
has advocated right living, oh so nobly, while he has given a 
wonderful gift to science without price, because through it he 
first saved the life he loved best. Isn’t that marvellous, grand- 
father? And he said, ‘Very marvellous, Ruth. Won’t you sit down 
and read to me about it? And I said, ‘I can’t, dear grandfather, 
because I have been away from grandmother all day, so she is 
fretting for me, and to-night is a great ball. She has spent millions 
on my dress, I think, and there is an especial reason why I must 
go, so I have to see her now; but I want to show you the man’s 
face; then you can read the story.’ 

“You see, I knew if I started to read it he would stop me; but 
if I left him alone with it he would be so curious he would finish. 
So I turned your name under and held the paper and said, ‘What 
do you think of that face, grandfather? Study it carefully,’ and, 
Man, only guess what he said! He said, ‘I think it is the face of 
one of nature’s noblemen.’ I just kissed him time and again and 
then I said: ‘So it is grandfather, so it is; for it is the face of the 
man who twice saved my life, and lifted my mother from almost 


368 THE HARVESTER 


a pauper grave and laid her to rest in state, and the man who 
found you, and sent me to you when I was determined not to 
come.’ Then I just stood and kissed that paper before him and 
cried, again and again: ‘He is one of nature’s noblemen, and he 
is my husband, my dear, dear husband and to-morrow I am 
going home to him.’ Then I laid the paper on his lap and ran 
away. I went to grandmother and did everything she wanted, 
then I dressed for the ball. I went to say good-bye to her and show 
my dress and grandfather was there, and he followed me out and 
said: ‘Ruth, you didn’t mean it?’ I said: ‘Did you read the paper, 
grandfather? and he said: ‘Yes’; and I said: “Then | should 
think you would know I mean it, and glory in my wonderful 
luck. Think of a man like that, grandfather!’ 

“I went to the ball, and I danced and had a lovely time with 
every one, because I knew it was going to be the very last, and to- 
morrow I must start to you. 

“On the way home I told Mr. Kennedy what paper to get and 
read it. I said good-bye to him, and I really think he cared, but 
I was too happy to be very sorry. When I reached my room there 
was a packet for me, and Man, like David of old, you are a won- 
derful poet! Oh Harvester! why didn’t you send them to me 
instead of the cold, hard things you wrote?” | 

“What do you mean, Ruth?” 

“Those letters! Those wonderful outpourings of love and pas- 
sion and poetry and song and broken-heartedness. Oh Man, how 
could yon write such things and throw them in the fire? Granny 
Moreland found them when she came to bring you a pie, so she 
carried them to Doctor Carey, and he sent them to me, and 
David, they finished me. Everything came in a heap. I would 
have come without them, but never, never with quite the under- — 
standing, for as I read them the deeps opened up, and the flood 
broke, and there did a warm tide go through all my being, like 
you said it would; and now, David, I know what you mean by 
love. I called the maids and they packed my trunk and grand- 
mother’s, and I had grandfather’s valet pack his, and go and 
secure berths and tickets, and learn about trains, and I got every- 
thing ready, even to the ambulance and doctor; but I waited 








THE COMING OF THE BLUEBIRD 369 


until morning to tell them. I knew they would not let me come 
alone, so I brought them along. David, what in the world are we 
going to do with them?” 

The Harvester drew a deep breath while looking at the flushed 
face of the Girl. 

“With no time to mature a plan, I would say that we are going 
to love them, care for them, gradually teach them our work, and 
interest them in our plans here; and as soon as they become rec- 
onciled we will build them such a house as they want on the hill 
facing us, just across Singing Water, and there they may have 
every luxury they can provide for themselves, or we can offer, 
and the pleasure of your presence, and both of them can grow 
strong and happy. I’ll have grandmother on her feet in ten days, 
and the edge off grandfather’s tongue in three. ‘That bluster of his 
is to drown tears, Ruth; I saw it to-night. And when they pass 
over we will carry them up and lay them beside her under the oak, 
and we can take the house we build for them, if you like it better, 
and use this for a storeroom.” 

“Never!” said the Girl. ““Never! My sunshine room and gold 
garden so long as I live. Never again will I leave them. If this 
cabin grows too small, we will build all over the hillside; but my 
room and garden and this and the dining-room and your den there 
must remain as they are now.” 

The Harvester arose and drew the davenport before the fire- 
place, and heaped pillows. “You are so tired you are trembling, 
while your voice is quivering,” he said. He lifted the Girl, laid 
her down and arranged the coverlet. 

“Go to sleep!” he ordered gently. “You have made me so 
wildly happy that I could run and shout like a madman. ‘Try to 
rest, and maybe the fairies who aid me will put my kiss back on 
your lips. I am going to the hill top to tell mother and my God.” 

He knelt, gathering her in his arms a second, then called Bel- 
shazzar to guard, and went into the sweet spring night, to jubilate 
with that wild surge of passion that sweeps the heart of a strong 
man when he is most nearly primal. He climbed the hill at a rush, 
and standing beneath the oak on the summit, he faced the lake, 
and stretching his arms widely, he waved them, merely to satisfy 


3'70 THE HARVESTER 


the demand for action. When urgency for expression came upon 
him, he laughed a deep rumble of exultation. 

The night wind swept the lake and lifted his hair, the odour of 
spring was intoxicating in his nostrils, small creatures of earth 
stirred around him, here and there a bird, restless in the delirium 
of mating fever, lifted its head and piped a few notes on the 
moon-whitened air. The frogs sang uninterruptedly at the water’s 
edge. The Harvester stood rejoicing. Beating on his brain came a 
rush of love words uttered in the Girl’s dear voice. “I wanted 
you! Just you! He is my husband! My dear, dear husband! ‘To- 
morrow I am going home! Now, David, I know what you mean 
by love!” The Harvester laughed again and sounds around him 
ceased for a second, then swelled in fuller volume than before. 
He added his voice. ‘““Thank God! Oh, thank God!” he cried. 
“And may the Author of the Universe, the spirits of the little 
mothers who loved us, and all the good fairies who guide us, unite 
to bring unbounded joy to my Dream Girl and to guard her 
safely.” 

The cocks of Medicine Woods began their second salute to 
dawn. At this sound and with the mention of her name the Har- 
vester turned down the hill, and striding forcefully approached 
the cabin. As he passed the Girl’s room he stepped softly, smiling 
as he wondered if its unexpected occupants were resting. He 
followed Singing Water, and stood looking at the hillside, study- 
ing the exact location most suitable for a home for the old people 
he was so delighted to welcome. That they would remain he never 
doubted. His faith in the call of the wild had been verified in the 
Girl; it would reach them also. The hill top would bind them. 
Their love for the Girl would compel them. They would be com- 
pany for her and a new interest in life. 

“Couldn’t be better, not possibly!’ commented the delighted 
Harvester. 

He followed the path down Singing Water until he reached the 
bridge where it turned into the marsh. There he paused, looking 
straight ahead. 

‘Wonder if I would frighten her?” he mused. “I believe Pll 
risk it.” 





THE COMING OF THE BLUEBIRD 371 


He walked on rapidly, vaulted the fence enclosing his land, 
crossed the road, and unlatched the gate. As he did so, the door 
opened, and Granny Moreland stood on the sill, waiting with 
keen eyes. 

“Well I don’t need neither specs nor noonday sun to see that 
you're steppin’ like the blue ribbon colt at the County Fair, and 
lookin’ like you owned Kingdom Come,” she said. ““What’s up, 
David?” 

“You are right, dear,” said the Harvester. “I have entered my 
kingdom. The Girl has come and crowned me with her love. She 
had decided to return, but the letters you sent made her happier 
about it. I wanted you to know.” 

Granny leaned against the casing, and began to sob. 

The Harvester supported her tenderly. 

“Why don’t do that, dear. Don’t cry,” he begged. “The Girl 
is home for always, Granny, and I’m so happy I am out to-night 
trying to keep from losing my mind with joy. She will come to you 
to-morrow, I know.” 

Granny tremulously dried her eyes. 

“What an old sap-head I am!”’ she commented. “I stole your 
letters from your fireplace, pitched a willer plate into the lake— 
you got to fish that out, come day, David—fooled you into that 
trip to Doc Carey to get him to mail them to Ruth, and never 
turned a hair. But after I got home I commenced thinkin’ *twas 
a pretty ticklish job to stick your nose into other people’s business, 
an’ every hour it got worse, until I ain’t had a fairly decent sleep 
since. If you hadn’t come soon, boy, I’d ’a’ been sick a-bed. Oh, 
David! Are you sure she’s over there, and loves you to suit you 
now?” 

“Yes dear, I am absolutely certain,” said the Harvester. “She 
was so determined to come that she brought the invalid grand- 
mother she couldn’t leave and her grandfather. ‘They arrived at 
midnight. We are all going to live together now.” 

“Well bless my stars! Fetched you a family! David, I do hope 
to all that’s peaceful I hain’t put my foot in it. The moon is the 
deceivingist thing on earth I know, but does her family *pear to 
be an a-gre-able family, by its light?” 


G72 THE HARVESTER 


The Harvester’s laugh boomed down the road. 

“Finest people on earth, next to you, dear. I’m mighty glad to 
have them. I’m going to build them a house on my best location, 
and we are all going to be happy from now on. Go to bed! ‘This 
night air may chill you. I can’t sleep. I wanted you to know first 
—so I came over. In mother’s stead, will you kiss me, and wish 
me happiness, dear friend?” 

Granny Moreland laid an eager, withered hand on each shoul- 
der, and bent to the radiant young face. 

“God bless you, lad, and grant you as great happiness as life 
ort to fetch every clean, honest man,” she prayed fervently, with 
closed eyes and her lined old face turned skyward. “And, O God, 
bless Ruth, and help her as You never helped mortal woman 
before to know her own mind without ‘variableness, neither 
shadow of turnin’. ” 

The Harvester was on Singing Water bridge before he gave 
way. There he laughed as never before in his life. Finally he 
controlled himself and started toward the cabin; but he was 
chuckling as he passed the driveway, and walked down the broad 
cement floor leading to his bathing pool, where the moonlight 
bridged the lake, falling as a benediction all around him. 

He stood a long time, when he recognized the familiar crash 
of a breaking backlog falling together, and heard the customary 
leap of the frightened dog. He walked to his door and listened 
intently, but there was no sound; so he decided the Girl had not 
been awakened. In the midst of a whitening sheet of gold the 
Harvester dropped to his stoop, leaning his head against the 
broad casing. He broke a twig from a hawthorn bush beside him, 
then sat twisting it in his fingers as he stared down the line of 
the gold bridge. Never had it seemed so material, so like a path 
that might be trodden by mortal feet and lead them straight 
to Heaven. As on the hill top, night again surrounded him while 
the Harvester’s soul drank deep wild draughts of a new joy. Sleep 
was out of the question. He was too intensely alive to know that 
he ever again could be weary. He sat there in the moonlight, with 
unbridled heart glorying in the joy that had come to him. 

He turned his face from the bridge as he heard the click of 














THE COMING OF THE BLUEBIRD 373 


Belshazzar’s nails on the floor of the bathing pool. Then his heart 
and breath stopped an instant. Beside the dog walked the Girl, 
one hand on his head the other holding the flowing white robe 
around her and grasping one of the Harvester’s lilies. His first 
thought was sheer amazement that she was not afraid, for it was 
evident now that the backlog had awakened her, and she had 
taken the dog and gone to her mother. Then she had followed 
the path leading down the hill, around the cabin, and into the 
sheet of moonlight gilding the shore. She stood there gazing over 
the lake, oblivious to all things save the entrancing allurement 
of a perfect spring night beside undulant water. Screened from 
her with bushes and trees the Harvester scarcely breathed lest he 
startle her. Then his head swam, and his still heart leaped wildly. 
She was coming toward him. On her left lay the path to the hill 
top. A few steps farther she could turn to the right and follow 
the driveway to the front of the cabin. He leaned forward watch- 
ing in an agony of suspense. Her beautiful face was transfigured 
with joy, aflame with love, radiant with smiles, and her tall figure 
fleecy white, rimmed in gold. Up the shining path of light she 
steadily advanced toward his door. Then the Harvester under- 
stood, and from his exultant heart burst the wordless petition: 

“Lord God Almighty, help me to be a man!” 

With outstretched arms he arose to meet her. 

“My Dream Girl!” he cried hoarsely. “My Dream Girl!” 

“Coming, Harvester!”? she answered in tones of joy, as she 
dropped the white flower and lifted her hands to draw his face 
toward her. 

“Is that the kiss you wanted?” she questioned. 

“Yes, Ruth,” breathed the Harvester. 

“Then I am ready to be your wife,” she said. “May I share 
all the remainder of life’s joys and sorrows with you?” 

The Harvester gathered her in his arms and carried her to the 
bench on the lake shore. He wrapped the white robe around her 
and clasped her tenderly as behooved a lover, yet with arms that 
she knew could have crushed her had they willed. The minutes 
slipped away; still he held her to his heart, the reality far sur- 
passing his dream; for he knew that he was awake, and he real- 


374 THE HARVESTER 


ized this as the supreme hour that comes to the strong man who. 
knows his love requited. 

When the first banner of red light arose above Medicine Woods} 
and Singing Water the cocks on the hillside announced the dawn. . 
As the gold faded to gray, a burst of bubbling notes swelled from 
a branch almost over their heads where stood a bark-enclosed _ 
little house. | | 

“Ruth, do you hear that?” asked the Harvester softly. | 

“Yes,” she answered, “and I see it. A wonderful bird, with 
sitet! deepest blue on its back and a breast like a russet | 
autumn leaf, came straight up the lake from the south, and before — 
it touched the limb that song seemed to gush from its throat.” | 

“And for that reason, the greatest nature lover who ever lived | 
says that it ‘deserves preéminence.’ It always settles from its long 
voyage through the air in an ecstasy of melody. Do you know © 
what it is, Ruth?” | 

The Girl laid a hand on his cheek and turned his eyes from 
the bird to her face as she answered: ‘“‘Yes, Harvester-man, I | 
know. It is your first bluebird—but it is fan too late, and Bel- | 
shazzar has lost his high office. I have usurped both their posi- 
tions. You remain in the woods and reap their harvest, you enter 
the laboratory and make wonderful, life-giving medicines, you 
face the world and tell men of the high and holy life they may __ 
live if they will, and then—always and forever, you come back 
to Medicine Woods and to me, Harvester.” 














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